


In This Handmade Heaven (teen-rated version)

by sconesandtextingandmurder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Just a little angst, M/M, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Police Officer Castiel (Supernatural), Romantic Comedy, Small Towns, dean fixes up a house, dean loves a uniform, deancastropefest, mention of past dean winchester/others, neighborhood goat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-23 20:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18709798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder/pseuds/sconesandtextingandmurder
Summary: Dean knows Bobby’s given him an opportunity by asking him to fix up this house, but being sent to a tiny town in the middle of nowhere feels a lot more like being banished. One store, one bar, hell, the entire place only has one cop. Dean’s plan is to go, get the house in order, and be back to his real life in Sioux Falls in time for Sam’s visit home at Christmas.Everyone in Linden seems to know his business before he even arrives, and no matter how he tries to keep to himself, he and that cop, one Officer Cas Novak, keep crossing paths. Despite his initial intentions, Dean finds himself embracing the small town, the people there, and even the neighborhood goat. As he and Cas grow closer, Dean realizes that being stuck in the middle of Iowa feels a lot like coming home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot begin to tell you what the Tropefest challenge has given me over the years. Not only did the very first one renew my love of fic writing, it has brought me into contact with incredible writers and artists, many of whom I am proud to now call friends. Thank you to Muse and Jojo for riding out the storm and being there to support us over the years. It is gratefully appreciated. 
> 
> There are not enough superlatives in the English language to describe [Whichstiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel), both as an artist and a human. She graciously stepped in last minute to pinch hit as my artist, and I am forever in awe of her innovation and talent. She is truly a blessing in my life. Check out her art posts on [ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18739552) and [tumblr](https://whichstiel.tumblr.com/post/184714131255/handmadeheaven). 
> 
> Huge thanks to [A_Diamond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Diamond/pseuds/A_Diamond) for beta reading and patiently answering all of my questions, and to [blue_morning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_morning/pseuds/blue_morning) for beta reading and all around cheerleading. To my Lot’s SisterWives: I couldn’t do this without you. 
> 
> This entire premise of this fic is thanks to a conversation with [Sharkfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkfish/pseuds/sharkfish).
> 
> This version exists mostly so my mom can read this fic. (Hi, Mom!) If you are not my mom, and would prefer an explicit version, it can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/44369887).

Dean’s been doing his best not to think as he drives, just letting the miles between Bobby’s house and his destination build as the day progresses. As he heads south from home, the scenery gradually changes, softening from the ruggedness of South Dakota to the rolling hills and never-ending farmland of Iowa. Two hundred and fifty miles is an easy drive, no reason to get an early start, so Dean slept late, then took his time getting the car packed. As a result, the early October sun is already setting by the time he turns east to make the final push into central Iowa. Bobby accused him of dragging his feet and, while Dean would never admit it, he wasn’t wrong. He knows this “trip” is supposedly an opportunity, but he can’t shake the underlying feeling that it’s a banishment. He’s been on thin ice, he knows that. He knows Bobby has given him more chances than he deserves, keeping an eye out for him even when Dean would rather he didn’t. Even though he tries to keep his light hidden under a, well, not a bushel so much as a greasy old trucker hat, Bobby has been more father to him than John ever was. So when Bobby told him in no uncertain terms that he’d be taking this job, Dean swallowed down any objection and began to pack his things.

He’s heading to the middle of nowhere to assess a property. A small house, previously owned by Bobby’s old friend Rufus. Rufus owns a handful of houses and hunting cabins scattered across the west and midwest and, for reasons unknown to Dean, he’s gifted the one in Iowa to Bobby. About a month ago, Rufus had come through Sioux Falls on his way to Florida, claiming he was done with harsh winters and, alluding to a favor owed, straight up offered it to Bobby. Bobby had protested, but ultimately accepted and somehow this became Dean’s problem. He’s armed with an address, a set of keys, and the barest bones of a description...small house, acreage with an outbuilding. Ostensibly, Dean’s job is to scope it out and see what kind of shape it’s in, but the truth of the matter is that Bobby’s sent Dean off to give him a chance to get his head on straight.

When his GPS alerts him to the I-80 exit, Dean sighs and switches on his turn signal. It’s still another twenty minute drive through a whole lot of nothing in the darkness, but it’s not like he’s going to know the difference when he hits Linden. With a population right around two hundred, it doesn’t exactly offer the lights of the city to guide him in.

 _“_ One store, one bar, hell, the whole place only has one cop,” Rufus had told them. Rufus swore he loved the place, though, and was only leaving because his old bones couldn’t handle the cold any longer. “You come see me in Florida,” he’d told Bobby. “We’ll fish our lives away.”

It had left Dean with a sudden image of the two of them in brightly flowered shirts, Bermuda shorts, and flip flops. Picturing Bobby scowling at the sea with his trucker hat still planted firmly on his head, he’d snorted, catching their attention.

“You ain’t invited,” Bobby had informed him.

In the pitch-black night, Dean misses the driveway not once but twice, swearing as he carefully swings the Impala into u-turns on the dirt road. When the house finally comes into view, he sits in the car with the headlights on, suddenly too weary to get out. The house has been empty for months, and it waits for him, dark and silent. Even at this first glance he can see sagging gutters and some missing screens. With another heaving sigh, he hauls himself out of the driver’s seat, stretching his arms overhead to release the stiffness from his shoulders. He grabs the least he can get away with from the trunk and makes his way up the slanting front steps to the porch.

Old mail and advertising flyers clutter the bristly doormat, and Dean kicks the papers to one side to pull open the tattered screen door. It nearly flies out of his hands, the damper clearly broken. As he tries to jam his key into the lock, the screen door slams back and hits him in the ass. He fights with the creaky lock, using increasing pressure until something gives and he’s able to turn the key. A wave of musty air hits him as soon as the door is opened. With any luck, he’ll die of black mold in his sleep tonight and this “adventure” will be over before it starts. Using his phone’s flashlight he searches the walls until he finds some switches and, holding his breath, tries one. Like a miracle, the front room is filled with light.

Dean finds himself standing in the living room, and does a quick walk through the downstairs to find a kitchen, small dining room, bedroom, and full bathroom. The house has a partial second story and up the stairs are two more tiny bedrooms and a half bath. The only good thing about the upstairs is that the gold wall-to-wall carpeting there is slightly less horrifying than the aqua monstrosity that covers much of the downstairs. He tries the tap in the bathroom, pulling his hand back as rusty water sputters from the faucet, but it evens out and runs clear after a few moments.

Back downstairs he retrieves his bags from where he’s left them by the front door, and takes them into the downstairs bedroom, where there’s at least a queen-sized bed. The downstairs toilet continues to run after he flushes it so he employs his best handle-jiggling technique while adding that to his ever-growing mental to-do list.  Making the bed feels like a monumental task, but sleeping on a bare musty mattress sounds worse, so, locating some bedding in the closet, he slaps on a fitted sheet and stuffs what can only generously be called a pillow into a case. Standing in the bedroom, Dean turns in a small circle, taking in his bleak surroundings. Despite the fact that It’s not even that late, he grabs a blanket, pulls off a couple of his layers and collapses into sleep on the mattress.

*

He wakes the next morning to...nothing. No sounds of traffic, nobody playing their tv too loudly in the next apartment. There’s nobody jogging down the street, no small child yelling from their stroller. Nobody’s going to mistake Sioux Falls for New York City, but it’s eerily and disturbingly quiet. He’s still gathering the strength to roll himself out of bed when he hears a bird begin to chirp, a shrill couple of notes that it repeats over and over.

“Yeah, ok, I hear you,” he mutters. “You’re a bird and it’s morning. I get it. Way to do your...job or whatever.”

The place is no better in the morning light. Rufus had been slowly transitioning to Florida so he’d used this place only occasionally for the past few years. As a result, it’s furnished, but only with the bare necessities. What it _does_ have is plenty of dirt, as evidenced by the layer of dust on every surface and the  cobwebs in every corner. As Dean walks from room to room opening curtains, he notes that the place seems sturdily built, at least. The doors and all the window frames are made from solid wood, oak as far as he can tell. Scuffing his toe against the ugly carpet, he says a silent prayer for wood floors underneath. He’ll need to do a full survey and walk around the grounds but that’s going to have to wait until he’s caffeinated. He’s gratified to see there’s a coffeemaker on the kitchen counter, but the cabinets are completely empty.

Ok, new top priority: into town for coffee.

He showers and dresses quickly. He brushes his teeth then replaces his toothpaste and toothbrush in his toiletry bag where he can guarantee their relative cleanliness. In his enthusiasm to procure coffee, he forgets about the broken screen door and basically flings it against the wall when he opens it. As he walks toward the Impala, he spots the detached garage/outbuilding that’s behind the house. There’s a carport on the property, but he’d much rather have his Baby completely out of the elements. Once he gets some coffee in his system he’ll be able to sit down and start prioritizing a list.

Town can’t possibly be as bad as Rufus described it.

Town is worse than Rufus described it.

There’s a small market that Dean isn’t quite sure even qualifies as a grocery store. A bank. A post office that seems to also share space with a tiny library branch. Something called the Nail ‘n’ Ale has Dean confused, but at least it seems to indicate that there’s beer here. There are a few other nondescript buildings that Dean is too uncaffeinated to figure out. He passes a boarded up gas station before pulling into the parking lot at the market. An actual goddamn bell rings when he makes his way inside and that’s followed quickly by the lone cashier greeting him. “Hello! How can I help you?”

 _Ratchet down the goddamn cheeriness for one,_ Dean thinks, but he plasters a smile on his face instead. “Anyplace I could get a cup of coffee?”

“Oh, sure!” The cashier, a young woman, points to a corner of the store. Dean follows and finds an industrial pot sitting on a burner. Next to it are a stack of styrofoam cups and some packets of sugar and powdered creamer. Dean’s not a coffee snob by any stretch of the imagination, but one takeaway since his break-up with Lisa is an ongoing appreciation for anything containing about three shots of espresso.  

“How about like, a coffee shop?”

“The hardware store serves coffee but it’s not open yet.”

Dean squints at her. “Did you just say the hardware store serves coffee?”

“It’s a restaurant, too,” she says, as if that explains it.

“Peachy,” Dean says through clenched teeth as he resigns himself to a styrofoam cup. He digs around in his pocket for change to put in the bowl but the cashier calls over to him.

“If you’re getting groceries, I can just add it to your bill.”

Nodding in her direction, Dean tries not to grimace around the first swallow. It’s hot at least. He goes to pull a cart from the corral right inside the door but the end one resists until he yanks on it, and then it releases suddenly, sloshing coffee onto his hand and shirt in the process. He wipes his hand on his now-wet shirt then begins steering the cart around the store, tossing things in without too much thought. He doesn’t plan on being here long, maybe a few weeks? A month at most? Long enough to come to a consensus on what Bobby wants to do and put those plans in motion. Rufus had spoken highly of the hunting and fishing in the area, enough to intrigue Bobby into possibly hanging on to the house for himself, or maybe turning it into a rental. From what Dean’s seen so far, though, he’ll be better off trying to unload it and leave the repairs for somebody else. A fixer-upper, they’ll call it in the real estate listing.

While he shops, an older couple comes into the store and Dean welcomes their presence because at least the cashier now has something to do other than stare at him. But when he glances over, he finds all three of them looking his way while speaking in hushed voices.

Pretending not to see them, Dean keeps walking and wheels the cart around to another aisle.

“Excuse me,” the older woman calls when he comes back into sight.

Trying not to crush the cup in his fist, Dean smiles tightly. “Yes?”

“You’re Rufus’s friend, right? The one from Sioux Falls?”

Dean blinks. “Uh, yeah. I am.”

“Welcome.” There’s a brief flurry of introductions during which Dean nods and doesn’t bother trying to remember their names. They’re all looking at him expectantly, and Dean decides whatever’s in his cart is going to have to do.

“And fifty cents for the coffee,” the cashier says once she’s rung him up, smiling at him like they’re in on a private joke.

“You know it.” He’s pleased to find there’s a card reader and he takes out his credit card to slide it through. “Thought maybe I’d have to swap you some chickens or something.”

There’s a long, awkward pause while she just looks at him until his receipt finishes printing. She tears it off and hands it to him. “Have you met Georgina yet?”

“Just got in last night,” Dean says, a headache starting between his eyes despite the caffeine. He manages to avoid any other small talk and hurries outside. With a paper bag in each arm, he fumbles to drop the coffee cup into a trashcan, then makes for his car.

*

He spends much of the day cleaning. If he has to live there, no matter how temporarily, he needs not to shudder every time he brushes up against anything. He throws open the windows to let in fresh air and sunshine and, as he works, he tries to look past the scuffed walls and dated light fixtures to try and see what a potential buyer might look for. There’s plenty to do, but much of it seems to be cosmetic, at least inside. The exterior might be a different story. He’s already noted the gutters and screens, plus the front porch is going to need to be completely rebuilt. Eventually he’ll have to get up on the roof and down into the basement but so far he hasn’t found anything insurmountable.

Outside, he walks around the property doing a survey in the remaining daylight hours. The day is crisp as only October can be, the wind just this side of too cold and, after being cooped up all day dealing with dust and mildew, the air feels gloriously fresh in his lungs.

Granted Rufus hasn’t lived here full-time in quite awhile, but it looks like he’d walked away mid-project. He clearly never used the outbuilding as a garage and it won’t be worth the effort it would take Dean to clear it out for the short amount of time he’ll be here. It seems like more of a workshop with scraps of wood and old shingles scattered around inside, along with odds and ends Dean can’t even begin to identify. He brings his toolbox from the trunk of his car and sets it on the worktable. There are a couple of old hay bales scattered around taking up usable floor space, so he’ll need to clear those out. Outside, the grass is overgrown, bushes choking the pathways. Dead branches litter the ground, likely remnants from a summer storm. In the waning afternoon sunshine, Dean gathers up as much debris as he can and deposits it  into a cleared-off bit of ground where a circle of stones delineates a pre-made fire ring. With the help of a little kerosene he finds, he’s able to get a nice little bonfire going, warm enough that he strips off his outer layer. The heat feels pleasant as the sun sets and, once he’s sure it’s going strong, he quickly steps inside to get a cold six pack from the fridge, grabbing a chair from the front porch on his way back out.

At the end of a long and thorough day’s work, the beer tastes that much better, cold and bitter on his tongue and in pleasant contrast to the warmth of the fire on his face. The fire crackles and shoots up sparks in a way that reminds him of long ago fireworks and summer evenings spent with his brother. The thought of Sam makes his jaw clench up a bit and he quickly swallows the rest of his beer. Every good memory of Sam causes him to ache a little, and Dean chastises himself. It’s not like he’s dead. He’s off living his best life at Stanford. Still, he can’t help but feel that despite being Dean’s shadow for years on end, Sam couldn’t wait to get as far away as possible, first chance he got. Part of Dean’s brain knows he’s being unfair, the logical part that knows Sam was offered an incredible opportunity, and truthfully, Dean could never have lived with himself had Sam passed it up. The other part, the one he keeps locked away, wishes Sam had seemed a bit more ambivalent about packing up and moving across the country. Sure, at that point Sam had probably thought Dean had Lisa to keep him company, but look how that had turned out.

It’s all good, he reminds himself. He and Lisa remain friends, both of them realizing they’re better that way. And his brother will be home for Christmas, just a few short months from now. He’ll be graduating in the spring, so maybe there’s a chance he’ll choose a law school that doesn’t require Dean to give up two days of his life driving or multiple years off his life by getting on a plane.

Dean finishes his second beer and tries to figure out what he can turn into dinner from the lame collection of groceries he’d chosen that morning. Peanut butter and jelly is sounding high on the list, but right now he feels too warm and comfy in his chair to even make his way back across the chilly yard. He’s still sitting there when headlights unexpectedly break the darkness. A car is pulling into his driveway and, even in silhouette, Dean can see that it’s a police car.

If he’s being taken in for something, he might as well be good to go, he decides, and opens another beer. He doesn’t bother getting up as the lone police officer approaches him. Dean can’t make out his face from this distance, but, unlike other cops he’s dealt with, he doesn’t have the telltale hand perched at the ready near his hip.

“Evening, officer,” he calls into the dusk.

The officer doesn’t respond until he steps into the firelight, and when he does speak, it’s with a deep voice that carries an undercurrent of command. “You must be Rufus’s friend. From Sioux Falls.”

Dean stops himself from rolling his eyes, but just barely. “Was there a press release or something?”

The officer appears to be only a little bit older than Dean and he’s definitely not the old paunchy type Dean assumed would be the one cop to run things here. He’s dark-haired and handsome,  filling out that uniform like it was custom made. He’s also currently looking at Dean with rather unamused eyes. “We’re a small town. Word gets around.”

Dean gestures at him with his bottle. “Now, _that_ I have noticed.”

The officer turns away and surveys the fire. “It appears to have escaped your notice that we’re under an open burn ban.”

That sounds pretty self-explanatory, but Dean is not in the mood. “And that would be…?”

“It means that conditions are dangerously dry and outdoor fires are currently not permitted.”

Smiling brightly, Dean tries for charming. “You came all the way out here just to tell me that? That’s some A+ personalized service, Officer...”

“Novak.”

The name suits him. All hard consonants and no nonsense.

Dean holds out his hand but doesn’t bother getting to his feet. “Dean. Dean Winchester.”

Officer Novak gives him a long look before shaking his hand. “As you know, ignorance of the law is no excuse.”

Dean really should be more concerned. He knows that it was his second disorderly conduct that put Bobby on this mission to “get his head screwed back on right” as he so eloquently put it. But he just doesn’t have it in him to meekly _yes sir_ this guy. “Did somebody narc me out?” He looks around before turning to Officer Novak conspiratorially. “I saw a crow earlier who I’m pretty sure gave me a dirty look.”

“I saw the smoke from town and decided to drive out and investigate.”

“So nobody called the cops on me. I’m sorry, I mean _the cop_.” That gets him no reaction so Dean continues. “I’m guessing you don’t exactly have a ton to keep you busy.”

Officer Novak visibly bristles, straightening to his full height. “You’d be surprised. Now about this fire—”

“Look, dude.” From the scowl on his face, Officer Novak does not appreciate being called _dude_ , but Dean is pretty sure he’s not getting arrested for this so he keeps going. “I don’t think I even have a working hose out here, so unless you want to call a fire truck, how about I just sit here and continue to babysit this fire until it’s completely out.”

“I suppose that will have to do.” He turns to survey the scene once again and Dean takes advantage of that to survey his ass.

It’s an excellent ass.

Dean pulls out another bottle from the six pack and holds it out toward him. “You’re welcome to join me.”

The fire crackles again, flaring brightly enough that Dean can make out that the police officer has searing blue eyes. They’re easier to see because they’ve currently widened in shock. “Mr. Winchester, I’m on duty.”

It’s the first crack in his professional armor and something about it absolutely delights Dean. He’s loose enough from the beer to wink at him. “So, when do you get off?”

The scowl is back, accompanied by a squinting glare. “See to it that this fire is taken care of safely.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean offers a lazy salute.

Officer Novak turns to walk into the darkness without another word.

“You could pull the stick out of your ass and add it to the pile,” Dean mutters.

“Good night, Mr. Winchester.”


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Dean checks in with Bobby. No matter what they ultimately decide to do with the property, there are some repairs that will have to be done.

“It’s not a bad house,” Dean concedes. “If you could move it to some place that actually has a pulse, it’d be fine.”

“Some folks like the peace and quiet of a small town.”

“Yeah, maybe old folks like you.” That earns him a  _hmph_ and Dean can’t help but smile. “You know I’m just giving you a hard time, old man. But tell me, how’s life in the big city? I heard they’ve got movin’ pictures with sound now.”

“It’s a hell of a lot quieter without you running your mouth at the garage.”

“Aw, I miss you, too.” He wanders out of the front room. “I’ll take some pictures and send them to you. Much of what needs to be done is stuff like ripping out carpet and repainting.” He runs a hand along the wood door frame. “She’s got good bones, that’s for sure.”

“Sounds good. You keeping your nose clean out there?”

From where he stands near the front door, Dean can see the charred remains in the firepit. “Well, I did have a run-in with the cop last night.”

“Boy, you ain’t been gone three days, how the hell are you in trouble already?”

Dean can hear the undercurrent of concern, and he’s quick to reassure him. “I’m not in trouble, I swear. He just came out to tell me about a burn ban.”

“Well, see you keep it that way,” Bobby grumbles.

“I will. I promise.” He sure as hell can’t see what Bobby sees in him, whatever it is that keeps finding him out on a limb for Dean, but he’s not about to let Bobby down. Still, he can’t resist adding, “Besides, there’s only one of him, so I’m pretty sure he can’t watch me all the time.”

Dean sends the pictures so they can discuss and prioritize what needs to be done. Working from that, Dean makes a list of supplies he’s going to need. He does a quick search and shouldn’t even be surprised to find that the nearest Home Depot is a forty-five minute drive away, in the outskirts of Des Moines. Great, nothing like having to set aside a half day every time he needs something. Maybe it’s time he checked out the hardware store he passed in town to see what they have on hand.

He drives the short distance to town and pulls into the lot. He peers at the Nail ‘n’ Ale sign a bit, and yeah, it definitely says hardware store  _and_ public house. Once he’s stepped inside, it begins to make more sense. To the right, people are seated at a counter and scattered across a couple of tables, eating and drinking. It smells delicious, like fresh coffee and fried foods and maybe even a whiff of something still warm from the oven. To the left, he sees rows and shelves of hardware.

“Eating, shopping, or both?”

He blinks at the employee. “Uh, shopping. But this is cool.”

He smiles at Dean. “We think so. Can I help you find anything in particular?”

Before Dean can give him a quick summary of what he’s got planned, the man interrupts him. “You must be—”

He knows the drill by now. “Yeah. Rufus’s friend. From Sioux Falls. Name’s Dean.” They shake hands and Dean wonders how people stand living here when even the smallest bit of information is passed from person to person like a virus.

The good news is that the store is well-supplied, and he quickly fills a basket with a good percentage of what he needs. The even better news is that nobody seems to stare at him while he shops, at least not until he gets to the checkout. The same employee who greeted him is there to ring up his purchases and he excitedly introduces Dean around to the people sitting and eating. Maybe two of them are the same older couple from the grocery store the other day, but Dean hadn’t paid enough attention to know for sure. But he smiles and nods and makes small talk. Truth is, one of these people is the most likely candidate to buy the place, or know someone who wants to live in Linden, so he might as well do his best to seem friendly and trustworthy.

To further that cause, he asks, “What’s good to eat here?”

“Fried chicken,” one of them says.

“Meatloaf,” another one offers.

“Pie,” the woman behind the counter says and the others quickly agree.

“Well, now you have my attention,” Dean says. What follows is a good-natured argument over the best flavor, since apparently it changes every day. Three-quarters of a blueberry pie sits under a clear dome and the employee, a dark-haired woman who’s wearing a name tag that says Ella, smiles at Dean.

Ella puts a slice in a to-go box and waves Dean off when he tries to pay for it. “Welcome to Linden.”

Maybe it’s the promise of pie that has him in a good enough mood to pull over when he drives past a small park and catches sight of a familiar figure. Officer Novak is standing on the sidewalk watching a group of kids playing. Some are pumping their legs on the swings, others are clambering up the ladder to take turns on the slide. The smaller ones are attended by their parents, but others seem old enough to be there on their own.

As Dean watches, Officer Novak gestures to a handful of older kids on skateboards. His posture straightens as he waves them over, and Dean’s pretty sure if he had a whistle he’d be blowing it to get their attention. He’d bristled when Dean called him out on not having anything to do, but here’s living proof that playground monitor is apparently an important part of his job description. The boys exchange glances amongst each other, then begin to ride his way. Dean frowns; it seems a ballsy approach for kids who are about to be reprimanded for flaunting a no skateboarding law. The three boys approach the cop, one even doing a cool flip with his board as he steps off it. Their backs are to Dean, but he can see Officer Novak speaking seriously to them. He looks them over one by one, then reaches out to the boy in the middle. Dean tenses  from his vantage point in the driver’s seat. Cop or not, it doesn’t seem right that he should be putting his hands on this kid. As he watches, Officer Novak places one hand on either side of the kid’s helmet and wiggles it a little. Then he nods and pulls some papers out of his pocket, handing one to each kid. To their credit, the kids seem respectful, body language casual like getting these citations or whatever is something they’ve been through before. There’s another moment of conversation before the boys roll off again, not walking away sheepishly with their boards tucked under their arms as Dean would’ve expected.

Dean gets out of the car and walks around it, standing near the sidewalk. “Excuse me.”

Officer Novak turns quickly, on alert to help. When he first spots Dean, a look of surprise crosses his face, almost too quickly to register, but Dean notes it with satisfaction before that mask of professionalism returns.

“How can I help you?”

Pushing off the side of the car, Dean moves toward him. “Well, first off, I saw you dealing with that unruly mob and I wanted to be sure you weren’t in need of backup.”

“Thank you for your concern. It is wholly misplaced.”

Dean scratches at the back of his neck for a moment. “You know, I wanted to be a cop at one point.”

Officer Novak takes a deep breath in through his nose before answering. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I got over that but it turns out I still have a thing for handcuffs.”

There it is. In the light of day, Dean can see the slight flush that colors his cheeks, even as he presses his lips together in a disapproving line. Before he can respond, a little girl comes riding up the sidewalk on a bike fitted with training wheels. Purple streamers adorning the handlebars match the bright purple of her helmet. “Officer Novak!”

Dean takes a quick step backwards to avoid being run over as she pulls up between them and scrambles off the bike. “Check me!”

Officer Novak kneels down to be at her level. He studies her seriously for a moment, then lays one big hand on top of her helmet, shifting it back and forth. Once he’s done that, she tips her head back so that he can examine the way it’s buckled under her chin. “Perfect, Allison. Now let me see what I have.” He straightens up to pull more things out of his pocket as she hops up and down. “Kittens or frogs today?”

“Frog!”

Bending over so that she can see, he holds out what Dean can now see is a strip of colorful frog stickers. “Which one?”

She points to one holding a big heart. “This one. No, this one.” She points to two frogs wearing matching hats.

“Excellent choice,” he says with utmost sincerity and Allison beams at him, her hand held out.

He peels off the sticker and she unzips her jacket so she can stick it to her shirt. “Thank you!”

“Allison,” a woman’s voice calls. “Did you say thank you to Officer Novak?”

“I did, mom!”

“She did,” Officer Novak assures her.

“Thank you, Cas. She couldn’t wait to get over here once she saw you.”

Allison’s mom, a pretty blonde, turns to Dean. “I don’t think we’ve met.” She gestures over to the playground. “Which one of those is yours?”

That’s when Dean realizes it’s probably more than a little creepy that he, a single man, has stopped by to watch a playground full of children. “Oh, uh. No. I just stopped to talk to  _Cas_ here.”

“What was it you wanted, Mr. Winchester?” Cas says pointedly.

“Winchester? Oh, you must be Rufus’s friend from Sioux Falls.”

That is an unmistakable smirk on Officer Novak’s face.

“In the flesh,” Dean says, smiling extra brightly because she’s not wearing a wedding ring.

“It’s so very nice to meet you,” she says, one hand going to her hair. “I’m Corinne. We don’t get a lot of new people around here.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

Dean can feel the weight of Cas’s glare on him. “What was it you wanted?” he repeats.

Allison calls to her mom who reluctantly says goodbye. Dean watches her leave more for effect than anything else. “I just wanted to let you know I got myself a hose so we won’t have any more fire issues.”

“We won’t have any more fire issues because you won’t be starting any more fires while we’re under a burn ban.”

Dean considers. “Yeah, ok. That, too.”

“Anything else?”

“You gave those other kids stickers, too?”

“What?” Cas blinks in confusion. He looks like a hot, befuddled owl.

“The ones on skateboards.”

“Older kids get coupons for free fries at the fast food place,” he explains. “They’ve been a good community partner to encourage safe helmet usage.”

“Oh. That’s...actually pretty smart.”

“And effective. Now, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Get your monstrosity of a car out of this no parking zone.”

_Shit._ Someday maybe Dean won’t need to have the last word, but at least he’s moving back toward the driver’s side as he says, “Or what?”

“I think some kitten stickers would look great on your windshield.”

Dean can’t help it. He gasps. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Winchester.”

“See ya, Officer Novak.”

*

While the October weather holds, Dean starts on the outside of the house. He finds the storm windows stacked in the basement and pulls them out onto the grass to hose off and thoroughly wash. It’s nice to blast his music as he works, with no worry of neighbors hearing it much less getting mad and banging on his wall. Sure, he’s stuck in the middle of nowhere but there’s a freedom in only having to answer to himself. As long as he gets the work done, he can set his own schedule. He can sleep late if he wants, eat cereal for dinner and popcorn for breakfast. No nine-to-five grind, not even Bobby and his questions about Dean’s day. It’s nothing but Dean time.

It’s so quiet, though. Even with the loud music playing, it’s too much time alone with his thoughts.

Sam used to call him a mother hen and, truthfully, the way he would say it, Dean was never quite sure if it was an insult or not. Maybe sometimes he overdid it with his not-so-little-anymore brother, but Sam wasn’t the one who ever had to worry about where his next meal came from or if there’d be money for new clothes or school field trips. Sam was the one being taken care of, so to be called a mother hen actually came with a twinge of pride and satisfaction. Like Dean had done his job too well.

But Sam’s gone now. He’s hitched his wagon to Stanford and taken off on a flying metal death tube all the way across the country. Ok, that doesn’t even make sense. Dean picks up another storm window, leaning it against the side of the workshop so he can soap it, then straightens up to stretch out the kink in his lower back. What matters is that Sam’s living his own life now, pursuing his dreams of becoming a lawyer. After he’d left, Dean had spent some time playing house with Lisa, but that hadn’t turned out to be what either of them truly needed. When that ended, for the first time in a long time, Dean was free of expectations and responsibility, and he should’ve been ecstatic at the chance to focus solely on himself.

Maybe that run of drunken nights and hookups had been the flip side of that, Dean sowing his wild oats again just because he could. But it had been more than just some harmless blowing off of steam. Those drunken nights had led to a couple too many bar fights, a couple too many instances where Dean had ended up in cuffs in the back of a police car.

He remembers how shitty he felt after that first arrest. Hungover and ashamed and disgusted with himself. He’d been living with Bobby at the time, the couple of weeks he intended for getting back on his feet after moving out of the apartment he’d shared with Lisa somehow morphing into months. He’d apologized to Bobby, and pleaded with him not to tell Sam, promising him he had things under control. Assuring him it was one bad night and that he’d get his shit together.

After the second one…Dean scrubs a hand over his face. Well, it’s no wonder Bobby sent him here.

At least he has this chance now, and the time to prove that he can be a fully-functioning adult, one who manages within the limits of the law. Hell, he probably couldn’t get into trouble here even if he tried.

He imagines Cas trying to break up a bar fight and bursts out laughing. Sure, the guy looks strong and fit but who here would even get in a fight? And over what? The last piece of pecan pie at the hardware store?

He dries the window and carries it around to the side of the house to fit it onto the frame. The first floor is coming along nicely, but he’s hesitant to get up on a ladder to do the upstairs bedroom windows with nobody around to spot him. He may have to hire somebody to help with some of that, but he’ll worry about that later. On his way back around the house he notices the nearly overflowing trash can. As a now-responsible adult, Dean realizes he needs to acquire some important information. Pulling out his phone, he finds the non-emergency number for the local police and dials, hoping his assumption is right. Sure enough he hears a familiar deep voice.

“This is Officer Novak.”

“I’m so glad I caught you. I was worried you might be busy rescuing a cat from a tree.”

There’s a long pause. “What is it you need, Dean?”

Dean sits down on the back porch steps. “Well, since I am committed to being a law-abiding citizen and obeying rules like the burn ban, I have a few questions.”

“Such as?”

“When’s trash day?”

“Excuse me?”

“What day do I take my trash can to the street?”

‘You called the police to ask when trash day is.”

“ _Technically,_ I called the non-emergency number.”

“To ask when trash day is.”

“Look, I figure there are all sorts of rules about when I can put my trash out and how far from the driveway it can go. If you tell me now, that’ll save you having to come out here with a ruler or whatev—”

There’s the unmistakable sound of the phone call ending. Dean hits redial.

“This is Officer Novak.”

“Hi, this is Dean Winchester? I think we got disconnected?”

The call ends again.

Dean grins, picturing Cas glaring at his phone, waiting with clenched jaw for it to ring. He pockets his phone and ambles inside to fix himself some lunch, putting his music back on at full volume. Barely ten minutes later he nearly jumps out of his skin when there’s a pounding at the front door.

Switching off his music, he peers out the front window. There’s a police car in his driveway.

He waits a long moment before opening the door. “Officer Novak. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Cas gestures at Dean with the baton he’s clearly used to bang on the wooden door.

“Look, I get that you find this town amusing. That this is hilarious to you and your ‘big city ways’.” Jesus, the guy actually tucks the baton back into his belt so that he can free up both hands to make air quotes. “But I have a job to do here and it’s a job that is both necessary and important. So whatever you think you’re playing at, I do not appreciate having my time wasted and my position belittled.”

He’s glaring at Dean, drawn up tall with ramrod posture. The lines of his face are hard but his eyes are squinted in a way that makes Dean think of a pissed off bird. A tiny, fucked-up thrill runs through Dean at the thought that he’s elicited this take-charge reaction out of Cas.

Dean knows he should apologize. Cas clearly takes his role seriously, and honestly, Dean’s been acting like an asshole. He should own it with a sincere appeal for forgiveness, and try to get out of this with some semblance of dignity. Instead he says, “So you took time out of your extremely busy schedule to come rip me a new one in person?”

He waits for Cas to inevitably double down. Hell, it crosses Dean’s mind that maybe you can get arrested for like, annoying an officer? Is that a thing? He tries not to hold his breath, but the reality of the situation suddenly has him stressed. He came here to prove to Bobby that he was a functional adult, one who could be trusted with responsibility. He hasn’t even been here a week and somehow he keeps escalating things with the police.

Surprisingly, Cas softens. “I came out here because I wanted to be sure that you were all right.”

“I’m fine,” Dean insists, crossing his arms over his chest.

Cas looks at him in a way that makes Dean want to slam the door shut and escape his probing gaze. “In my experience, pranks and inappropriate contacts can sometimes be a cry for help. A way of reaching out when the person isn’t yet able to be honest about their predicament.”

Dean barks out a harsh laugh. “I don’t have a  _predicament_. I’m here to fix up a house. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“It can be hard to be in a new place, away from family and friends. There’s nothing wrong with being lone—”

“We are not doing this.” Dean’s heart is pounding. How the hell has Cas gotten there from Dean being an obnoxious prick.

Cas just keeps looking at him with a sincerity that makes Dean squirm. That makes him think that maybe he actually cares. It’s bullshit. That’s what it is. No way Cas knows him from a couple of brief interactions.

“I’m fine,” he says again. “And obviously you’ve made it clear that you have many more important things to attend to so don’t let me keep you from those,  _Officer_.”

Cas holds up his hands, palms out. “I don’t mean to interfere.”

And here’s the thing. If Dean could just get past this knee-jerk reaction to tell him to get lost. If he could admit that yeah, he hates being here in this empty house with nothing but dingy, stained walls to hold in his thoughts. There don’t seem to be a lot of people his age in this town so, if he were planning to stick around here, which he’s definitely _not,_ Cas is one of the few people he’s come across so far that could potentially fall into the friend category. He doesn’t let his brain go any further than friendship, because small-town cop into guys? Chances are less than zero.

Dean takes a deep breath and tries his damndest to get over himself. “Ok, fine. I shouldn’t have messed with you like that. I was bored and fucking around. You didn’t have to come all the way out here on some sort of welfare check. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a job to do as well.” He gestures towards the yard where a stack of storm windows waits for him.

Cas tips his head to the side. “Have you met Georgina yet?”

Was Georgina the single mom at the park? Dean can’t remember for sure. But good to know Cas thinks he needs to play matchmaker on top of everything else. Dean smiles tightly. “The only thing that’s here to be fixed up is this house.”

Cas opens his mouth then closes it again. “All right. I’ll let you get back to work.” With a nod, he turns and makes his way down the steps. He’s halfway to his patrol car before he stops and turns back around. “Tuesday.”

“What?”

“Trash day is Tuesday. Make sure your can is three feet from the driveway.”

_Don’t say it, Dean. Don’t. Just don’t._ “I look forward to you inspecting my can, Officer.”

Cas stares for a long moment, his face inscrutable, before resuming the walk to his car.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next week or so, Dean does his best to focus on getting his work done. He’s polite when he finds himself having to go to town, interacting with anyone he encounters with an easy charm that doesn’t go too far beyond the surface. He’s not here to make friends. He’s here to get this house back in shape and then get back to Sioux Falls and get on with his life. If Bobby thought the time here would motivate him to get his own apartment, well, the old man is looking like a genius. There’s so much nothing here. So much open space, so much undisturbed land stretching out as far as the eye can see. He tells himself that this whole episode in his life is nothing as well. Just a blip on the radar, a few months that will leave him with a handful of great stories to tell forever.  _I lived in a town so small it only had one cop,_ he’ll say, and his friends or the girl he’s trying to impress will laugh, wide-eyed and eager to hear more.  _One cop?_ She’ll undoubtedly say.  _That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard!_ Once this town is a disappearing speck in his rearview mirror, they’ll commiserate about what a sacrifice he’d made simply by being here, and they’ll toast the fact that he’s returned to the real world.

He ignores the fact that these fantasies involve only the vaguest outlines of the people crowded around him, letting him hold forth at a bar or party or whatever. It’s not like he doesn’t have friends, it’s just that most of them don’t do the bar scene anymore. Benny is settled down with his wife, Andrea. They’ve bought a house and are talking about trying for a baby. He’s got Charlie, of course, she’s been a good friend, and she kept trying to make plans when he and Lisa split up, but he’d kept her at arm’s length until she stopped reaching out.

He and Lisa had friends, but the truth of the matter is that they were her friends and he was just along for the ride.

He’ll have to work a little harder at meeting people when he gets back home. Maybe he’ll sign up for one of those dating apps or something. It might take some time but the whole point is that there are plenty of fish in the sea. Here? Here there’s barely a puddle to dip his toe into.

Interestingly, he doesn’t see Cas the next few times he’s in town. Not strolling whatever his lame attempt at a beat is, not standing in the park like a creep handing out stickers. Maybe there’s a secret donut shop that he’s hanging around. Dean snorts at his own hilarity, then he stops and wonders if there  _is_ a donut shop somewhere. He even asks the next time he’s at the grocery store, but the clerk merely points him to a small section of cellophane wrapped packages on a shelf. Dean sighs and wonders when his exile will end. He adds  _not even a place to get a donut_ to his mental list for future, outraged storytelling. Ok, sure the pie at the hardware store is incredible. He’s tried three different types so far and he can’t even begin to find fault with any of them. But the fact that he’s getting his pie at a hardware store? He moves that to the top of his list.

So, yeah. No recent run-ins with the law. He does, however, wonder if Cas flinches when his phone rings, or if he keeps an eye out for Dean’s Impala the way Dean seems to have one eye peeled for the patrol car. Not that he’s spending a lot of time thinking about it. It’s just odd that he couldn’t even get out of his own driveway without tripping over Officer Novak for a while there, and now, even when he drives up and down the main drag, he can’t even find the one guy who drives a car as eye-catching as his own.

And if he’s mentally replayed a few of their previous conversations, it’s just that he’s bored out of his mind in this dump. The way Cas turns red and tries to keep his professional composure when Dean flirts with him, well, that just tells Dean that he’s still got it. It’s easy to flirt with women, always has been. Generally all that takes is a little prolonged eye contact and they’re suddenly flocking to him, twirling their hair as they smile up at him. Men require an entirely different approach, he’s found. It’s a weird high-wire act between too subtle that it goes unnoticed and so obvious that he ends up pushing his luck. A couple of shiners from guys who definitely didn’t swing that way were enough to teach him to keep things light, using enough jokes that he could claim plausible deniability if he was called out. For the most part, a guy laughing with him wasn’t going to hit him, and that light-hearted approach meant his intended target was the one left trying to decide if Dean meant anything by it. That’s how this works: he sends out some signals and watches carefully to see how they’re received. That response informs his next move, either turning it up another notch or walking away to cut his losses before he finds himself nursing a split lip in an alley outside a bar.

So why is he laying it on so thick with Cas? Maybe it’s the uniform. Dean’s only human, and it seems impossible to be immune to the way Cas looks in that crisp, form-fitting outfit. Or maybe it’s the air of authority Cas exudes while he’s wearing it that makes him a natural target for Dean’s needling. From the moment Dean met him, emerging out of  the darkness to lecture Dean about the burn ban, Cas had proven himself to be extraordinarily rule bound. Messing with him is a game, more a harmless distraction than anything else. By this point, Dean’s pretty sure Cas isn’t going to take a swing at him just for mouthing off. Probably not, anyhow. Dean thinks back to the way Cas glares at him when he’s completely fed up. About the tight set of his spectacular jaw that indicates he’s done with whatever conversation they’ve been having. About the way his uniform pants show off his ass as he walks away.

Dean shakes his head as if that will clear the vision and removes another chipped, painted cabinet door from the kitchen.  

*

The next time Dean sees Cas it’s a visit of the professional type.

It’s already dark when he comes home after driving the thirty minutes to an actual city big enough to get some supplies and have his choice of places for dinner. At first glance, everything seems just as he’s left it, but as he parks, something out of place catches his eye. The trash can has been knocked over and the bag lies ripped open on the grass. He’s yet to see any raccoons in the area, but having to gather up scattered garbage in the dark is enough to motivate him to prevent this from happening again. Maybe weighing the lid down will do the trick, so he makes his way to the outbuilding to see what he can find.  

Oddly, the latch is unfastened and the door is standing partly open. Fully on alert now, he moves closer. “Hello?”

There’s no response and he switches on his phone flashlight so that he can see to switch on the shop light plugged into the outlet. Even if a raccoon could’ve gotten the latch open, there’s nothing in here worth eating, but nonetheless, he finds signs of someone having been in there. He’d left some cabinet doors stacked on the hay bales, ready to be stripped and sanded, but now he finds they’ve been knocked to the floor. Even before he can process that, he hears the sound of something crashing inside the house.

Grabbing a hammer from his work bench, Dean creeps across the short distance from the workshop to the back door. He’d left the kitchen window open to air out the smell of the self-cleaning oven that he started before he left, so there’s no mistaking the fact that someone—or something much larger than a raccoon—has gotten inside his house. He stands in the shadows, listening intently. Another crash.

Trying to sound as tough as he can, he yells, “Who’s there?” He gets no response other than a continued racket from inside. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

Whatever’s in there can’t even be bothered to freeze at the sound of his voice. Dean’s pissed, but he also suddenly realizes he’s out here alone, far from any neighbors in shouting distance,  with possibly a tripping meth head or a bear ransacking his place. Honestly, he’s not sure which one he’d rather encounter. Dean’s a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them and he’s not about to deal with this on his own. Pulling out his phone, he does the responsible thing and dials 911.

“This is Dean Winchester. I’m out at Rufus Turner’s place and I’ve got an intruder in my house.”

After clarifying the address, the dispatcher says, “Ok, sir. We’ll send the officer out. Don’t engage with the intruder in any way.”

“Not a problem.” Playing it safe, Dean moves back to where his car is parked and stands as casually as he can, keeping the very large piece of metal between himself and the house. It’s just because it’s dark that he feels so vulnerable, he tells himself. Well, that and the fact that he has no safe refuge other than his car. Each time the wind blows, he turns toward the road thinking it’s a car approaching, but there’s still nothing but blackness. Setting his phone on the roof of the car in easy reach, he tugs the zipper of his coat higher, keeping the hammer clutched in his right hand. Intermittent sounds and the unmistakable thunk of footsteps continue to come from inside the house and now he’s wondering about the possibility of a bear  _on_ meth. That could do a hell of a lot of damage. He won’t go so far as to say he’s scared exactly, but he’s definitely  _unsettled_. Maybe that’s why he still has it in him to be annoyed when he notes that when the police car finally arrives, it doesn’t even have its lights on. Not like he expected Cas to come roaring in with sirens screaming, but a little respect for his crime scene would’ve been nice.

Cas gets out and places his dumb hat on his head. “What is it now, Mr. Winchester?”

“Ok, look,” Dean says. “I know I’ve been a pain in your ass, but there’s somebody or something in my house, ok? I tried yelling at them but they don’t seem to care that I’m even out here.”

“What makes you think there’s an intruder?”

Just then there’s another loud crash. Dean puts his hands on his hips and stares at Cas. “Is that enough for you, Officer?”

Cas looks toward the house, listening carefully, then turns back to Dean. “Is that a...hammer?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Looking far too calm, Cas tips his head to the side. “And what exactly were you planning to do with it?”

Dean bangs it up and down in the air. “I didn’t come here to get murdered by a tweaker. Or a bear. Or a bear on meth or whatever the fuck you have out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“All right, first off, how about you put that down before someone gets hurt.”  

Ignoring the fact that Cas seems more concerned about him being smart enough to arm himself than he is about the actual intruder, Dean reluctantly sets it down on the ground. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Ok, so what do we do now?”

“ _We_ don’t do anything.  _I’m_ going to do my job.” He strides toward the house.

Dean trots to catch up. “It’s my house. I’m coming, too.”

“Fine, but stay behind me, please.” Cas slowly walks the perimeter of the house, Dean close on his heels. When he’s made a complete circle he continues around to the back, standing outside the back door. “Police! Come out with your hands up!”

He says it in such a deep, commanding voice that Dean feels his knees go a little bit weak. They stand in tense silence as nothing happens. “See?” Dean whispers, “He didn’t respond to me either.”

“You were foolish to try and engage this situation,” Cas says.

“I thought we were on the same side here,” Dean says, and totally doesn’t step a bit closer to Cas when there’s another scuffling sound from inside.

Cas pulls a flashlight from his belt and shines it into the window. “This is the police,” he shouts again.

As he swings the flashlight beam around, it catches on two unmistakable eyes, glowing greenish-blue and about six feet off the ground. “Did you see that?” Dean hisses. “What the hell!”

Cas takes a startled step backwards, bumping into Dean. “I did. That’s extremely concerning.”

“Maybe you should call for backup.”

“There is no backup, Dean. It’s just me.”

“Oh my god,” Dean says. “I’m going to die here.”

“I need to confront this situation head on. Do you want to go wait in the patrol car?”

“What? No, you can’t go in there. Not by yourself.” Does he have a bulletproof vest? Does he even have a  _gun_?

“Are you offering to assist me?”

“Uh,” Dean’s heart is pounding. “Ok.”

Cas takes his arm and pulls him back a few steps from the house. He leans in and speaks softly. “I’m not sure what we’re dealing with but it appears to be both dangerous and destructive.”

“Yeah, ok, that much I figured out on my own.”

“Also,” he swallows hard. “It may not be human.”

If it weren’t for the fact that the fear is clearly written across Cas’s face, Dean would be sure he was fucking with him. But Jesus, he’s out here in the boonies and maybe all that shit is true. Fucking bigfoot or the mothman or who the fuck knows. “What are you saying?” he finally gets out.

“I’m saying prepare yourself.”

“Ok,” Dean says, nodding furiously, “Ok,” he says again, even though he doesn’t know what ‘prepare yourself’ means other than try not to piss his own pants.

“Stay behind me.” One hand on his belt, Cas moves stealthily across the small back porch. When they get to the door, Cas makes some silent hand gestures which Dean interprets as asking for the key. Careful not to jingle the rest of the ring, Dean passes it to him. Every sound seems to carry for miles, the slide of the key into the lock, the thunk of the bolt turning, the creak of the doorknob. Dean holds his breath to keep from loudly panting. “You stay here. I can’t risk a civilian in this situation.”

Dean nods, equal parts terrified and grateful.

“I’m coming in,” Cas yells, kicking the door open and how the hell does Dean find any brain space to find that hot. “Oh no,” Cas says. “It’s just as I thought. Oh no, Dean this is  _aaaaaahhhhhh_!” There’s a very loud  _thump_.

Dean freezes. “Cas? Cas, are you ok?”

There’s nothing but silence.

“Oh my god oh my god,” His phone is back on the car roof he realizes, and besides, Cas has said there’s no one left to call. Wishing he had the hammer, he pulls in a deep breath through his nose and charges inside.

Cas is on the floor, sitting up at least. Next to him is a fat brown and white goat, enjoying the way Cas is carefully scratching between its ears. “Dean, meet Georgina.”

Dean blinks and blinks waiting for what his eyes are seeing to connect to his brain and let coherent words come out of his mouth. “You’re not hurt?”

“Georgina is extremely friendly.”

“You  _fucking asshole_.” Still chewing, Georgina lifts her head to regard him. “You knew she was in here all along.”

“Of course.”

“So you were just fucking with me this whole time.”

Cas turns to look at Georgina. Georgina turns to look at Cas. “He’s a little slow, but he got there.”

“That’s...that’s…” Dean sputters. That’s actually pretty goddamn impressive is what it is, but there’s no way in hell he’s about to tell Cas that. “Why is there a goat in my house?”

“Georgina is...well, she’s a neighborhood goat, I guess you could say. She was originally owned by one of your neighbors, but his fence making skills were a bit rusty and, as you’ve probably heard it said, ’If it can’t hold water, it can’t hold a goat.’”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off the headache that’s kicking in now that the adrenaline is starting to flow out. “Oh sure. Who hasn’t heard that?”

“Over time, instead of trying to keep her cooped up, a number of neighbors took on shared custody. She seems to understand this and moves around from house to house knowing she’ll receive food and shelter. She’s smart enough to know there was someone living here again and apparently she expected you’d have something for her. When you didn’t,” Cas pats her fondly, “she let herself in.”

Folding his arms indignantly over his chest, Dean says, “So, you’re saying this is my fault.”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “I tried to ask you about her the other day.”

The blood rushes to Dean’s face as he remembers that conversation and how quick he was to assume that Cas had different intentions. He clears his throat before saying, “I, uh, thought you were trying to fix me up with someone.”

Cas throws back his head and laughs, eyes crinkled and white teeth showing. His dumb hat falls off and Georgina bends down to nibble on it.

“I’m still mad,” Dean says, even though he can’t help but smile too. “Don’t think you’re forgiven this easily.”

Cas retrieves his hat and gets to his feet. “Can I help you clean this up?” The trash has been strewn everywhere and the knocked over dinette chairs certainly explain the loud bangs Dean heard. Also, there appear to be muddy hoofprints on his table.

“Nah, I’ve got this. Sorry for wasting your time.”

Cas softens. “You were concerned and rightfully so. As a law enforcement officer, I’m happy that you didn’t make the decision to confront the situation on your own.”

“I’m glad I could entertain you,” Dean says, and Cas’s mouth twitches again, his eyes going soft. It’s a good look on him.

“I’ll tell you what. I know you have a lot to do around here and could probably use a couple of extra hands. How about I come help you on my next day off?”

Dean nods. “Apology accepted.” Something tugs at his foot and he looks down to see Georgina chewing his boot lace. He hops on one foot to extricate himself. “What am I supposed to do with her?”

“Let’s take her out back and see if Rufus has left anything there.”

“Oh,” Dean says, as it begins to make sense. “That would explain the bales of hay.”

Cas pats his thigh like he’s calling a dog and sure enough the goat follows them out the back door. “And consider closing your windows when you leave the house. That’s just Safety 101.”

“Will I get a sticker for that?”

Cas smiles as they cross toward the workshop. “Ok, there’s hay in here so really all you need to do is put out some water.” He roots around until he finds a metal bowl on a shelf. “This should do. And I assume this is the blanket Rufus used for her.” He hands Dean the bowl and shakes out a blanket that was under the bowl, setting it carefully down in the corner. Georgina takes a mouthful of hay and settles herself down onto it. “Between all of her caretakers, she gets a pretty balanced diet.”

Dean clutches the bowl in both hands. “I have a goat now.”

“You do indeed.”

Cas waits while Dean walks back over to the house to use the hose to rinse and fill the bowl. Dean sets the bowl down near the blanket then reconsiders and moves it closer to the hay. “I don’t know what goats like.”

“Spend some time with her, she’ll tell you if you’re willing to learn.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “We’re getting into after school special territory now.” Straightening up he reaches into his pocket for his phone. “I gotta get a picture of this. Oh shit, I left my phone on my car.”

Together they walk back into the night. With all of the earlier excitement and adrenaline settled, he shivers in the cold. The sky is clear and, with no city lights, Dean can see more stars than he thought was possible. Head tipped back, he stops walking.

“It never gets old,” Cas says, his voice a soft murmur.

Dean feels suddenly small, almost dizzy as if he can feel the turning of the earth under his solidly planted feet. “It’s beautiful.”

“When I worked in the city, I missed this. I felt strangely disconnected.”

“You worked in the city? I guess I assumed you’ve been here your whole life.”

“I grew up outside of Des Moines, but I spent a few years in Milwaukee.” He glances away. “I know this place isn’t for everyone—or hardly anyone, to be honest.” He shrugs. “But it’s the place for me.”

Dean curls fingers around his cold phone. He feels like he’s supposed to say something here but he doesn’t know what. Anything he says is going to sound trite, like he’s somehow talking down to Cas. So instead he thanks him again and watches, hands stuffed in his pockets, as he drives away.

*

In the morning, Dean looks around the kitchen as his coffee brews. The chairs have all been righted and the table scrubbed clean. The trail of trash has been swept up and deposited in a new bag. The burned scent from the self-cleaning oven still permeates the air, but it’s faded. Still, with all other signs of last night’s commotion cleared away, it’s enough of a reminder that it hadn’t been some sort of fever dream. He can’t blame it on the fumes.

Dean pours himself a mug of coffee and tallies up the facts. There really had been an intruder in his house, trashing the kitchen. He really had called the police.

The intruder had turned out to be a goat.

A goat! In his house!

As far as Dean could tell, the goat seemed to be house trained. At least, he hadn’t found any surprises so far. For the first time since he moved in, he was glad he hadn’t tackled the god-awful carpeting yet.

Somehow, though, finding a goat in his kitchen hadn’t been the most unexpected part of the night.

Cas. He’d come out here almost certainly knowing what was going on and instead of being matter-of-fact about it, or even reading Dean the riot act for yet again wasting his time, he’d fucked with him  _so hard_. He thinks of the truly believable fear on Cas’s face, the way he’d spoken in hushed, careful tones. He thinks of the scream Cas had let out from the darkened room.

Alone in his kitchen, Dean throws back his head and laughs. Dean and his brother had had some epic prank wars over the years, but they were both amateurs compared to the way Officer Novak played him last night. Hell, Cas is probably telling the entire town about how he pulled one over on Dean, and Dean can’t even be mad. If he’d pulled off something that good, he’d take out an ad in the newspaper to announce it.

Dean knows he’s done this to himself at some level. All those people politely inquiring whether he’d met Georgina, and Dean hadn’t bothered to do anything but brush off their questions, annoyed by their prying.

Dean puts on a couple of layers and tops off his coffee before heading out back. The workshop door is still closed and he hesitates outside. He briefly considers knocking on the door before muttering  _dumbass_ at himself. He doesn’t want to surprise her, though, because maybe she’ll come at him hooves first if he startles her. After standing outside in the morning sunshine for far too long, he calls out, “I’m coming in, Georgina.”

The door creaks as he slowly opens it, and he tenses in case she bolts. When nothing happens, he steps inside and finds her still lying on her blanket, head lifted to look at him.

“Ok,” he says. “Ok.”

Georgina doesn’t move.

“I’m Dean. I live here now. Well, for now.” Still staring at him, she chews her cud. Dean can’t decide if it’s a judgmental sort of cud-chewing or not. “Rufus—you know Rufus, right? He moved to Florida and left me, well, my uncle, well, my sort of uncle, this place.” He wipes a hand across his mouth. “Jesus Christ, I’m talking to a goat.”

Never taking her eyes off of him, she stands and walks toward the door.

“We’re cool, right? You and me? Totally cool,” he says, even as he backs himself against the wall. With one hand, he pushes open the door. “Heading out? Probably got places to go, people to see…” Instead of leaving, she approaches him, sniffing at his jeans and nudging at his coffee cup with her nose.

“No way. I have no idea what caffeine does to goats.” She looks up at him and lets out a plaintive sound. He frowns down at her. “Are you hungry?” He glances back over to the hay bales around her bed. Eating that must be like Sam and his dumb salads. “Ok, let’s get you some breakfast.”

She stands patiently as he edges towards the door, then falls into step behind him. Dean’s never had a dog, but her hooves echo on the pavers that lead to the house in an oddly comforting way. She follows him up the steps to the back porch, but he turns to her before he opens the door just enough to squeeze through. “Don’t push your luck.”

Dean thinks maybe she looks a little guilty, but she doesn’t try to follow him into the house. Inside, he pulls the bag of bread from the cabinet and toasts up four slices. At a loss, he butters two, then adds peanut butter to a third and jam to the fourth. By the time he’s done, she’s nibbling on a bush at the corner of the porch but she trots in his direction as soon as he comes outside. “I didn’t know what you liked, so…” He sets a plate down with a sampling of each kind on the porch step, then sits down with his own plate. Interested to see what she chooses first, he watches as she sniffs at the plate. After thoroughly investigating it, she doesn’t eat any, instead coming over to see what he has. “It’s the same thing,” he explains. “Exactly.”

She watches him expectantly. He points to her plate. “That’s yours. It’s the same, I swear.” When she refuses her plate, he shrugs and lifts a slice of toast to his mouth. “Be that way, then.” Just before he can take a bite, she bleats loudly. It rings with accusation. “Are you kidding me?”

She bleats again, more softly this time. He sighs and holds out the toast. “Fine.”

Happily, she takes it from his hand.

Together, with Dean feeding her, they finish both plates of toast. When the food is gone, she licks the last crumbs from the plates, then nudges against Dean’s hand. “That’s all there is.” He reaches out cautiously, petting the top of her head. She leans into the touch and, emboldened, Dean scritches her like he’d seen Cas do last night. Her skin is warm under the short, bristly fur and she seems to like it when he scratches around the base of her small horns. Dean sits for a long while, watching as the day begins around him, sitting peacefully as the birds flit from branch to branch and the sun moves higher in the sky.

Finally, he rouses himself and gets to his feet. “We got work to do, Georgina.” Without a second look, she trots off, crossing the open field away from his property. Dean shakes his head. “Figures.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dean’s phone rings a few days later, after he’s finished dinner. It’s an unknown number, but a local one, so he answers.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean’s smiling before he can stop himself. “Officer Novak. What can I do for you? Have there been complaints about the way I sing in the shower?”

“Yes. Your neighbors would like to request some music from the current century, if that’s not too much to ask.”

“Not happening,” Dean assures him.

“I’m actually calling to say I have tomorrow off so I’d like to make good on my promise to help you.”

“Well, that would be great, but I haven’t had a chance to get what I need yet. I want to tackle shoring up the front porch but I think I’m gonna have to rent a truck.”

“I have a truck.”

“You do?”

“Did you think I drove the patrol car around on my personal business?”

_Yes._

_Maybe._

“Of course not.”

“I can pick you up and we can head wherever you need to go tomorrow morning.”

*

When Cas pulls into the driveway precisely on time the next morning, it’s in an abomination of a truck. Dean can’t help mouthing off about it, even though he knows it’s just to cover up for the fact that they’re now enclosed in the (surprisingly roomy) cab. Ignoring the arm tossed casually over his seat, he takes his time looking around as Cas backs them onto the road.

“Well, this certainly is a vehicle.”

Cas looks at him with mild shock. “I thought you of all people would appreciate a vintage truck.”

“Vintage is one thing but this…” Dean shakes his head. “This is just old.”

“I’m sure you aren’t insulting the very vehicle that is doing you a favor today.”

At that, Dean swallows his next smart ass response. How shitty does he have to be to give Cas a hard time when he’s literally going out of his way on one of his precious days off. “I appreciate it, man.”

“I mean, I suppose we  _could’ve_ tied the lumber onto the top of your behemoth.”

Dean jabs a finger at him. “Not funny.”

“Or we could’ve switched cars for the day.”

“ _That_ is an even less likely scenario.”

“You don’t trust my driving? I’m an officer of the law, Dean.”

This is the first time he’s seen Cas in anything other than his uniform and it’s disconcerting to see him in jeans. Dean has a momentary flash of Cas in the Impala. Not driving, of course, but sitting in the front seat, lounging a little against the soft leather. “Nobody drives my Baby, but I’m sure you’d make an excellent passenger.”

Cas smiles and steps on the accelerator. Dean’s able to hold his tongue for almost a mile. “You do hear that clunking sound, right?”

“Hard not to.”

“Is that something new?”

“No. It’s been doing that for awhile but I haven’t had a chance to get it looked at. Besides, it’s still running so...”

Dean sighs. “You gotta get that taken care of. I know damn well you have access to another car, just drop this one off at the mechanic.”

“The mechanic is thirty miles away.”

“Seriously?”

Cas gestures to the open, empty landscape around them. “This surprises you?”

“What about an auto parts store?”

“There’s one near the Home Depot.” Jesus, that’s a forty-five minute drive from Linden.

“Well, this is your lucky day. I should be able to fix that for you if we can find the proper parts.”

“Seriously?”

Dean shrugs. “I’m a mechanic.” He can see Cas’s jaw working, like he’s trying to get the nerve up to speak. “Spit it out.”

There’s a long pause and when he speaks, his voice is gentle. “What are you even doing here, Dean? I mean, I know you’re taking care of Rufus’s property, but how are you able to drop your entire life to be here?”

Dean glances out the passenger window, pretending to be absorbed in the scenery, even though nothing has changed as they’ve traveled east.  _Everyone leaves me and my sort of uncle was worried about the mess I was making in my own life so he sent me here as some thinly veiled tough love._ “I needed a change. Needed to shake things up a little.” He puts on his most charming smile. “So here I am.”

Cas only gives him a long look, before putting his eyes back on the road. “I see.”

“What about you?” Dean asks, desperate to take the attention off of himself. “You said that you missed all of this when you worked in the city. Gotta be a story there.”

“I grew up in a small town outside Des Moines, couldn’t wait to get out. I did four years at the University of Iowa, then decided to apply to the police academy in Milwaukee. I got hired on right away and started out as a patrol officer.”

“Were you amazed by the electric lights and horseless carriages?”

Cas gives him a small smile. “The city...wasn’t what I thought it would be. There was so much need there, so many people just being horrible to each other. It got to a point where—well, it got to a point where I felt that nothing I did was making a difference.” Dean can see the heaviness settling over him just from the memory and, when he looks over again at Dean, his eyes are sad. “I know you think this town is a joke, but in the city, there was no chance to get to know anyone. Being a cop became an endless series of split second decisions based on the immediacy of the crisis. I became a police officer because I wanted to help people, but working there made me feel less connected to humanity as a whole.”

“So you found this place?”

“A friend of a friend told me about it. He knew the guy who’d been the Linden cop previously and that he was planning to retire. I investigated the position, got myself certified for the state of Iowa, and I’ve been here for four years now.”

Dean’s not sure what to say. Despite the stick up his ass—or maybe because of it—Cas always seems so genuine, so earnest about doing the right thing. He thinks about Cas checking that kids are wearing their helmets correctly or driving out to make sure Dean being a pain in his ass wasn’t actually something more dire. Working in Milwaukee couldn’t have provided much opportunity for that sort of thing. “Protect and serve, huh? Well, you’ve certainly got that personal touch happening here.”

“I’m not naive, Dean. I know that just about anything that happens in the city can happen here. Drugs, guns, violence...this job is easier in some ways but a lot harder in others.”

“Because they aren’t just nameless people?”

“Exactly. It’s much harder to watch people I know and care about go through rough patches. But at the same time, it’s an honor to be a part of their lives as they do.”

They settle into silence after that and, when it gets too noticeable, Cas reaches over to turn on the radio, pushing buttons until a pop ballad fills the truck. Considering the guy just spilled his guts to Dean, Dean lets it go, hoping it’s a one off. When it finishes, though, another one comes on and, yeah ok it’s catchy and all, but it’s definitely not driving music. There’s nothing but miles of open road ahead of them so when the DJ announces, “ _We’re in the middle of a forty-five minute set of today’s best pop music_ ” Dean realizes he’s landed himself in car radio hell. He curls his hands into loose fists to keep from slapping the dial to another station, and from the corner of his eye, he sees Cas reach toward the radio again. For the briefest moment, hope wells up into his soul, but Cas merely turns the volume up.

Glancing over at Cas, he finds his blue eyes sparkling as he barely contains a laugh.

“Anybody ever tell you you’re an asshole?” Dean says.

Cas laughs and Dean can’t help grinning at him. He gestures to the radio. “Be my guest, but be prepared for nothing but static until you hit a country music station so clear you’ll swear they’re broadcasting from inside the truck.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Dean says, reaching for the knob.

“And Dean,” Cas says before he’s even changed the station. “Don’t think I didn’t see you singing along to Taylor Swift.”

*

They’re on the outskirts of Des Moines at an actual Home Depot, and Dean feels almost giddy. It’s early November and Dean’s been in Linden for just under a month. There are more people in this Home Depot than Dean’s laid eyes on at any one time since he got to Iowa.

“Lumber is that way.” Cas points to the far back corner of the store but Dean stops him.

“Lemme just walk around a little bit, make sure I’m not forgetting anything.” Dean’s got a very specific list on his phone, but he can’t resist the chance to stroll through the aisles. Nobody’s staring at him. Nobody’s whispering about how he must be  _Rufus’s friend from Sioux Falls._ He lets the feeling of blissful anonymity settle over him like a well-worn jacket. He wanders aisle after aisle, setting things in his flatbed cart, whistling as he goes. He should definitely find a place to get some espresso before they head back out to Linden. He can buy Cas a cup of coffee for driving him all this way, or maybe even lunch would be appropriate? He stops his cart, waiting politely while a guy has the center of the aisle blocked as he peruses the PVC pipe. He waits and then he says “Excuse me,” to the guy, who doesn’t budge. That’s when Dean notices the guy has headphones in, and he reaches over to tap him on the shoulder.

The guy spins around to glare at him and Dean gestures to the cart. With a loud noise of disgust, the guy jerks the cart out of the way before wordlessly turning back to the display.

Cas is standing at the end of the aisle, watching this unfold.

“Hey, can you arrest that guy?”

He pretends to consider it. “For what exactly?”

“Being a dick?”

Cas falls into step beside him. “No, but if it makes you feel better, I won’t give him a sticker, either.”

“You know what? It does.”

The shopping is pretty straightforward and if Dean appreciates the sight of Cas’s arm muscles flexing as he hefts piles of boards onto the cart, he does his best not to let on. Once they’ve paid and loaded everything into the back of the truck, Dean leads him over to the auto parts store that’s in the same complex.

“You don’t have to do this,” Cas protests.

“It’s the least I can do for the wear and tear you’re putting on the truck today. Not to mention giving up time on your day off.”

Cas smiles at him. “As long as we’re here, I’ve got one more errand to run, if you don’t mind.”

That’s how Dean finds himself at a specialty grocery store while Cas picks up two jars of organic honey. “Yes,” Cas says when he sees Dean open his mouth to question him. “It’s definitely worth the drive.”

There’s an actual coffee shop in one corner of the store. Dean resists the urge to run. “You want something? I’m ready to sell my soul for some espresso.”

Cas rattles off his request. “Medium dirty chai, please—you know what, add another shot to that as well.” Dean stares at him for a moment. “You thought I’d want some chamomile tea to go with my honey?”

“Maybe.”

Cas just shakes his head at him and goes to do some shopping.

When Dean has their coffees, he finds Cas in the produce section. The displays are filled with gorgeous looking fruits and vegetables, things Dean can’t even begin to identify. Things Sam would know. “My brother would love it here,” he says, picking up a head of something that turns out to be radicchio.

“You have a brother?”

Dean sets it down again. “Yeah, he’s at Stanford. Studying pre-law.” He keeps his eyes on the produce display so he doesn’t have to see the surprise in Cas’s eyes. That look he often gets when he talks about his genius kid brother, the one that says  _wow what went wrong with you?_

“That’s very impressive. You must be proud of him.”

Chancing a look, Dean finds that Cas seems sincere, his blue eyes meeting Dean’s. “I am,” Dean says quickly. “He’s doing great. Of course I am.” He doesn’t mean for it to sound defensive, but it does anyhow.

“Do you get to see him often?”

Sam can barely be convinced to come back to Sioux Falls; Dean can’t imagine him ever setting foot in a place like Linden. “I’ll see him in December when he’s home for break.” Dean’s plan is to have Rufus’s house ready to put on the market before then. He’ll be home in plenty of time to pick Sam up at the airport, so they can spend Christmas day at Bobby’s like always.

Cas tips his head a little bit, like he’s about to ask another question, but Dean gestures to the checkout. “Days are gettin’ short. We should keep things moving.”  It’s not even lunchtime yet but Cas doesn’t call him on it. Besides, they do have a fair amount of work to get done before the sun goes down.

Dean’s happy to have the coffee cup to keep his hands occupied as they get back on the road. Talking about Sam has left him a little unsettled. He misses his brother something fierce but it feels like things between them have gotten so complicated. No matter how many times he tells himself he’s happy for Sam, Dean can’t help longing for the way things used to be, when Sam followed him around like he’d hung the moon.

It doesn’t make a lot of sense in his own mind, and he can only imagine how it would sound if he tried to explain it to anyone else. It’s the first time he’s shared anything about his personal life since he got here, and it’s been kind of nice having no baggage, no background other than being Rufus’s friend. People have been excited to meet him and it’s all felt so simple and straightforward. Up until now he’s always been Sam’s brother or John’s son. Or, for awhile there, Lisa’s significant other. Here, he’s just Dean. The guy from Sioux Falls. The one here to fix up Rufus’s house. Here, nobody knows he’s the one who gets left behind when people decide it’s time for their lives to take a turn for the better. Nobody knows he’s the fuck up who let his life get so out of control that Bobby sent him across state lines for an adult-sized time-out. Hell, even though it’s only been a month, he has a place of his own for the very first time in his life. It’s taken some getting used to, all that time with nothing but himself for company, but he’s making it work. Turns out he’s got an itinerant goat for company.

Cas seems to have noticed that Dean’s gotten in his own head a bit and, on the drive home, they stick to lighter topics, things like music and food. Cas does the lion’s share of holding up the conversation, and Dean is grateful for it. Dean begins to relax as they get closer to Linden and they’re almost back to town when Cas’s cell phone rings. He does a quick check of the caller ID, then puts on his signal and pulls to the side of the road before answering.

“I bet you could talk your way out of a ticket,  _Officer,_ ” Dean says as he pulls over.

That earns him a raised eyebrow. “The law is the law.”

Dean must be feeling better because he’s able to admire Cas’s profile as he talks on the phone. He lets his eyes linger on the sharp line of his nose and the angle of his jaw that’s so perfect it should be illegal. He hasn’t shaved today and the dark stubble on his face is strangely compelling. As they’ve walked around today, Dean’s realized that, without the hat, Cas is actually a little bit shorter than he is. He’s still Officer Novak, but something about him out of uniform is softer. He’s funnier and more relaxed.

“I can be there in ten,” Cas says. “No, it’s not a problem.”

“Everything ok?” Dean asks, when he puts the truck back into gear.

“I need to make a stop. Well, two actually. They shouldn’t take long but I can drop you at home first if you’d like.”

“What’s going on? I’m in no rush.”

Cas gives him a smile. “I appreciate it. There’s a woman in town who is having a few issues with her memory. Sometimes she gets confused and needs a little help. She’s stubborn and won’t give up living by herself, but she has a daughter who lives about twenty minutes away. Anyhow, that was her neighbor. He found her wandering around outside without a coat and called me.”

By now, they’ve pulled up in front of the police station, which is mostly just a small office with a garage. “You’ve got to go to work?”

“Not exactly.” Cas is already getting out of the truck. “I just need to run up to my apartment for a moment.”

He goes in a side door and Dean sees lights switch on on the second floor. He didn’t realize Cas lived so close to the station, basically leaving him on site at all times. He’s back a few minutes later wearing his police shirt and jamming his hat onto his head. He’s still in jeans, though, and he has his regular shirt and jacket over his arm. Opening the garage door,  he stops to take something out of the trunk of his patrol car before closing everything up again and returning to the truck.

Placing a small leather-bound book on the seat between them, Cas has the truck started up again almost immediately.

“I’ve heard of good cop and bad cop,” Dean says. “What are you...half-cop?”

“I’m not technically on duty, but the uniform seems to soothe her.” He drives toward the north end of town and pulls into a driveway leading to an old, but solidly built farmhouse. A wiry man with greying hair is waiting near the end of the driveway, and he approaches the truck as it stops.

“Tory’s on her way,” the man says. “Sorry to bother you on your day off, but she seemed really agitated.”

Cas nods as he gets out, taking the book with him. “It’s not a problem.” He turns to Dean. “Dean, meet Matthew. He lives next door. Mildred doesn’t do well with men when she gets like this, so if you wouldn’t mind hanging back here.”

“Of course,” Dean says. Mildred is standing near her porch, keeping an eye on Matthew at all times. She’s dressed only in a nightgown and bathrobe, her bare legs ending in bedroom slippers. Her gray hair is disheveled but the look in her eye is fierce.

“Good afternoon, Mildred,” Cas calls to her, walking slowly but purposefully toward her. He looks sort of ridiculous, Dean thinks. Cop from the waist up, armed only with a book.

“Oh, Officer, thank goodness you’re here. I asked that man to get off of my property but he wouldn’t leave.”

“That’s Matthew. He’s your neighbor. He’s just looking out for you.”

Mildred eyes Matthew suspiciously. “He was trying to tell me what to do. I don’t want him here when Jerry’s not home.”

“Jerry’s her husband,” Matthew says softly. “He’s been dead five years.”

“Well, I’m here now,” Cas says. “How about we go inside where it’s warmer?”

“No, sir. That wouldn’t be proper, not with Jerry gone.”

“Ok,” Cas says easily. “I brought you something. Could we sit on the porch?”

Mildred gives Matthew one last suspicious look before agreeing. She lets Cas shepherd her to the wide wooden stairs and they sit down side-by-side. He flips open the book and sets it on his knee where they both can see it.

“Oh, that’s me!” Mildred takes the book and holds it so she can see it more clearly. “I loved that dress.”

“It’s lovely,” Cas agrees. “Let’s see what else there is.”

She flips through the pages. “That’s me and Jerry on our wedding day. He told me I looked sweet as a posy.” Her eyes are shining now.

“I imagine you did,” Cas says. There’s such a softness to his voice, such kindness in his every careful gesture that Dean feels something unexpected tighten his throat and he has to swallow hard around it.

“And there’s Victoria. My, she had a headful of hair when she was born.”

They flip through a few more pages, apparently watching Victoria grow up. “She’s on her way,” Cas assures her. “She’ll take you inside to warm up.”

“Ok,” Mildred says. “It has gotten a bit chilly.”

Just then a car turns into the driveway and a woman gets out, moving cautiously toward the house.

“Mama?”

Mildred smiles. “Victoria! We were just looking at your baby pictures.”

Even from where he stands, Dean can see Tory’s shoulders slump. She approaches with more certainty now. “Let’s go on inside and have some tea.” She sets a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “Thank you so much, Cas. She must not have taken her medication this morning.”

“Glad I could help. You got it from here?”

She nods, helping her mother to stand. “Can you tell Officer Novak thank you?”

“Is that his name? He’s very handsome, isn’t he, Victoria?”

“He certainly is, mama.” Dean snorts as he watches Cas try to figure out what to do with that. “And we’ve kept him here long enough. Thank you again,” she says to Cas. “And thank you, Matthew,” she calls over to where he and Dean are standing.

Matthew waves a friendly hand, then says goodbye to Dean and turns toward home.

“ _Definitely_ good cop,” Dean says, when Cas approaches the truck. Cas just shrugs but Dean isn’t about to let him off the hook that easily. “That was really cool, the way you got through to her.”

Cas holds up the photo album. “It’s been a lot of trial and error but it seems that if I can get her grounded and oriented with the pictures, she’s more likely to recognize Tory when she gets here and go peacefully along with her.”

Dean understands now the relief he saw in Tory’s posture when her mother greeted her by name. “That’s rough.”

“Yeah.” Cas sets the album back onto the seat, then tosses his hat on top of it. “Anyhow, sorry to take this time away from the project. Like you said, days are getting short.”

Dean waves a hand. “It’s no problem and honestly, I can’t work on an empty stomach. How about you let me make you lunch first?” When Cas hesitates, Dean adds, “It’s the least I can do for the handsome police hero.”

Cas gives him a look more lethal than any weapon he could possibly carry.

Laughing, Dean says, “I’ll take it that’s a yes.”

*

At Dean’s house, Cas quickly changes back into his other shirt while Dean sees what he can throw together into a halfway presentable lunch. Looking at the odds and ends in his fridge, he decides on an omelette and, after confirming that’s ok with Cas, he starts to prep the ingredients.

“Has Georgina been back around?” Cas asks, surveying the kitchen which was in complete disarray last time he was here.

“She stuck around overnight but I haven’t seen her since probably lunchtime that next day.”

“Well, I have no doubt she’ll be back, especially now that she knows she can count on you.”

Dean doesn’t mention the fact that, after some googling, he acquired a bag of grain to feed her. He asks Cas to throw some bread in the toaster and definitely doesn’t mention the breakfast he and Georgina shared. “Of all the things I expected to be doing here, playing goat parent wasn’t one of them.”

Cas leans a hip against the counter. “What did you expect you’d be doing?” He’s staring at Dean in that same even way he always does, and it’s no less intimidating when he’s wearing a henley and jeans.

He looks way too comfortable in Dean’s kitchen, and Dean has to clear his throat as he thinks of an answer. He waves a hand vaguely around. “Pretty much this. Get the house ready, nose to the grindstone and all that…” He trails off, checking the utensil drawer while the butter melts in the pan. Cas plucks the spatula from the drying rack and hands it to him. “Thanks.”

“It looks good from the outside,” Cas observes, still watching Dean.

“It should.” Along with cleaning all the storm windows, Dean’s fixed and cleaned the gutters and power washed the siding. “I’ve done what I can without getting up on the extension ladder but I gotta tell you, heights aren’t really my thing.”

“I can help with that, if you’d like.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. I’m offering anyhow.”

“Suit yourself,” Dean says, which is not at all the same as thank you.

Cas runs his hand over one of the newly stained cabinet doors. “You did this?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s really nice.”

He knows it’s good work but having Cas point it out makes him uncomfortable. Cas is out there helping people and Dean’s just sanding wood. He shrugs and focuses on the eggs. “I still have a ton to do. Tearing up carpets and painting and stuff.”

Cas, his hand still on the cabinet door, doesn’t say anything for a long moment.  “If you tell me where the plates are I can get them out.”

Dean points with the spatula and Cas crosses even closer to him. They stand side by side as Cas reaches two plates down from the cupboard. Their shoulders brush as Dean uses the spatula to divide up the omelette and then tips half onto each plate. Instead of picking up his plate and heading toward the table, Cas turns to face Dean. “These look great.”

Pleased, Dean busies himself with poking at the empty pan. “It’s nothing. A good way to use up leftovers.”

“I don’t cook much myself, so this is a treat.”

“Well, eat it before it gets cold, then.” Dean takes the toast to the table and when they sit, he asks the question that’s been on his mind since they stopped for Cas to change. “Is where you live part of the job?”

“Not exactly. It’s more that they turned an existing house into the police station and not the other way around.”

“It seems like you’re on duty a lot.”

“I am, but within reason. When I’m not, there’s coverage from the state police, but as I’m sure you can imagine, that means a slower response time.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “You told me there was no backup the other night.”

Cas grins. “There’s always backup. But I knew we didn’t need it.”

“Where do I lodge a formal complaint about a police officer abusing his power?”

“I’ll be honest,” Cas says, after another big bite. “I thought you knew she was in there and were messing with me.”

“Ok, look. I would totally fuck with you but I wouldn’t call 911 to do it.”

“That’s sort of what I assumed. And then I got out here and found you armed with that hammer.”

“Shut up,” Dean says, but there’s no heat in it. “I would’ve called the non-emergency number but I figured you wouldn't pick up.”

Cas’s smile fades. “I’m sorry you felt that way. You should be able to count on me responding if you have a problem.”

“Yeah, well, that assumes I’m not being a dick.”

“Even so, I should’ve—”

Dean cuts him off. “It’s fine, Cas. If I’d had a neighbor or somebody else to call, I would’ve started there.”

“You’ve got my personal number now,” Cas reminds him.

“I’ll text you goat pics.”

Cas brightens. “Please do.”


	5. Chapter 5

“I can’t believe that’s the same porch.”

Dean spent a lot of time taking before and after pictures to send to Bobby. “Doesn’t it look good? Cas helped me.”

“Who?”

“Oh sorry, Cas is Officer Novak. Turns out he has a truck and he offered to haul the lumber for the porch. I told you about the goat, right?”

“Not only that, you sent me pictures. You gonna put her to work, too?”

Dean laughs. “She’s mostly only good for trimming the bushes. But with Cas’s help I’m gonna get the roof checked next. We’ve had a little bit of snow but nothing major yet, so I want to get that taken care of before the weather turns for good.”

“Sounds like you’re making good progress. Are you thinking you’ll come home for Thanksgiving?”

Dean steps outside, admiring the way the storm door swings smoothly open. He bounces on the balls of his feet to feel the sturdy support of the rebuilt porch. “I was thinking about that. Still quite a bit to do here so I figured I might stick around and finish up so I could be sure everything is done before Sam gets home.”

“You do what you need to do. I’m here either way.”

Dean makes himself comfortable on one of the porch chairs, propping his feet on the railing. “Thanks, Bobby. Hey, did I tell you about Cas’s truck? I did what I could, but honestly it would look right at home in the salvage yard...”

*

As the weeks pass, Dean wouldn’t say he’s become a regular at the Nail ‘n’ Ale exactly, but he finds himself there more and more often. It just makes sense to combine trips, since he’s forever in need of more nails or spackle or caulking, and God knows he needs to eat. Sometimes he and Cas will meet for a quick bite before embarking on their next project.

But he doesn’t realize how comfortable he’s gotten there until he comes in one evening to find someone in what he considers “his” seat.

It’s not a big deal though. He takes another stool at the counter and is greeted with a smile by Ella. “What’s it going to be today, Dean? The regular?”

Ok, maybe he’s been coming in here a lot. “Am I really that predictable?”

Ella pretends to consider that. “Bacon cheeseburger, no tomatoes, fries, and a beer.”

“Yeah, well, today I’m about to rock your world.”

“You don’t say.” She pulls out her pad and pen, holding them at the ready.

Dean leans forward to give his words added weight. “Swap out the fries for tots.”

She nods appreciatively. “Bold move.”

Dean winks at her. “Expect the unexpected.”

Leaning back on the stool, Dean stretches his arms overhead, working out the kink in his shoulders. It’s the satisfying ache of a productive day. He’s spent all afternoon tearing up carpet, slicing carefully through the padding under the aqua monstrosity to discover solid oak floors underneath. Why anyone would’ve covered them up in the first place is beyond him, but with a little TLC they’ll be back to their original glory. Taking out carpet is good, meditative work: cut, pull, roll. The repetition created an easy rhythm that kept him from thinking too much about the fact that the house is nearly done. After the floors, a fresh coat of paint is about all it still needs before he can get it on the market.

He focuses on the burger Ella puts in front of him instead. It’s a work of art, honestly, and one of the things he’s really going to miss when he’s back in Sioux Falls. It’s a masterful combination of textures: the beef juicy, the bacon crisp, and the bun perfectly toasted. He savors it, taking his time as people come in. The Duncans are there, that couple he met the first time he set foot in the grocery store, and he catches up on the latest doings of their grandchildren, complete with admiring their pictures with the mall Santa. He takes a good-natured ribbing from Carol, the town’s librarian, on the beatdown her alma mater Colorado has given Stanford.

“Wait until basketball season,” he assures her, and sure enough she has nothing to say to that.

Content to sit a little longer before heading back out into the night and his quiet house, he orders a second beer. He’s discussing the merits and drawbacks of a 1965 Mustang with Mildred’s neighbor Matthew when his phone starts to buzz. He pulls it out of his pocket to see Sam’s name in the caller ID. Smiling, he excuses himself. “Gotta take this. It’s my brother.”

“Tell Sam hi,” Ella says, clearing his plate.

Dean takes his phone and walks over near the front door so as not to disturb the other diners. “Hey Sammy!”

“Hi, Dean. What’s up?”

“Not much, just having dinner—oh hey, Walt. Belinda feeling better?” He greets the retired long haul trucker who’s just come in. Walt assures him that his wife is on the mend.

“Where are you?”

“Sorry, just out at the local diner. It’s actually surprisingly good.”

“I thought you called that place ‘The Land that Time Forgot’.”

“It’s...not what I thought it’d be.” He glances around. “It’s not so bad.”

“That’s great,” Sam says, and Dean can hear the sincerity in his voice. “How’s the house coming?”

“Really well. Still some work to do, but I’ll be back in plenty of time before you get home.”

“That’s actually why I’m calling.”

“Oh yeah, you need to send me your flight info.”

“So, uh, here’s the thing.” Dean feels his stomach lurch downward in a most unpleasant way. “Jess invited me to go skiing with her family over break. They have a cabin up in the mountains that they go to every year and she asked me to come along.”

“You don’t even know how to ski.”

“Well, no, but she wants to teach me.” A long silence hangs between them, long enough that Sam finally asks, “Are you still there, Dean?”

Dean digs the heel of his hand into his temple, where a dull thudding has begun. “Yeah, Sam, I’m here.”

“If you don’t want me to go, I won’t,” he offers. “I just figured that with you so busy maybe it would be easier if you didn’t have to rush back.”

“I’m not going to stay here for  _Christmas_ ,” Dean points out, even though he shouldn’t have to. Sure, he spent Thanksgiving in this very spot, eating the turkey dinner special followed by some exquisite pumpkin pie, but Thanksgiving has never been a big deal for them. Not like Christmas. He’s always done his damnedest to make it special for Sam, but how the hell is he supposed to compete with ski trips to mountain cabins.

There’s another long pause. “I guess not.”

“But, hey, how often do you get a chance to go skiing?” Dean forces himself to keep his voice light. “Sounds like things with Jess are getting pretty serious if you’re going to be spending time with her family.”

“Yeah, I guess they are? I mean, provided they don’t hate me.”

“Nobody’s gonna hate you,” Dean assures him. “They might think you’re a too-tall nerd but that’s only till they get to know you. Then they’ll  _know_ you’re a too-tall nerd.”

Sam laughs and the sound of it does Dean good, despite the way his stomach has turned to lead. “Thanks, Dean. I know this isn’t what we planned but maybe you could come out here? In the spring? I’d love to show you around and Jess is dying to meet you.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He looks over to where his beer is waiting at his otherwise empty place. “Hey, my food’s getting cold so I’m gonna run. Talk to you soon and tell Jess hi for me.”

“I will. Thanks again for understanding.”

After they hang up, Dean stands there and tries to breathe, squeezing his phone in his fist. Of course Sam doesn’t want to come home. When has he ever? Dean should’ve seen this coming and it’s his own fault for getting his hopes up in the first place. Shoving his phone in his pocket, he makes his way back to sit stiffly on his stool. The beer looks enticing and he picks it up, admiring it for a moment before drinking it down in a couple of long swallows.

“You ready for pie?” Ella asks with one hand on the clear plastic dome that’s currently covering the deep-dish bourbon pecan.

Dean wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Not today.” He eyes the line up of bottles behind the counter. “How about a shot of whiskey.”

Ella hesitates. “Everything ok?”

“Fine.”

She pours him a shot and slides it over to him. “Ok.”

He tosses it back and the burn sets his throat on fire. It feels bad and familiar and perfect all at once. He taps the shot glass on the counter. “Let’s keep these coming.”

*

By the time Dean settles up his bill, he’s lost track of how many he’s had. He could do the math from looking at the total on the check but that’ll take more concentration than he’s capable of at the moment. He pays, carefully signing his name on the tab, being sure to leave Ella a good tip. She’s kept his water glass filled and stopped asking questions, both of which he’s grateful for. As he gets off his stool, planting his feet firmly and standing in place to get his bearings, she can’t resist asking one last time if he’s ok.

Not wanting to worry her, he smiles. “Never better.” She opens her mouth but he cuts her off. “And no, I’m not planning on driving.” He’s not that dumb.

Her face softens. “If you need a place to sleep it off…”

He shakes his head at her and oh shit that was a mistake. “I’m good.”

It’s cold as fuck outside and he stands in the doorway letting the air clear his head a little. Cold enough to snow, just about. Cold enough for skiing, probably. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. He’s not going to think about that now. Instead, he digs his keys out of his pocket. He can sleep in the car; it won’t be the first time. It’ll be a cold night, but he’ll be sheltered at least. He thinks longingly of his own bed, how soft and warm it is. Maybe he should walk home. It would take a while and he’d have to walk along the dirt road in the dark, but traffic isn’t exactly a big problem around here.

By now, most of the cars are gone from the Nail ‘n’ Ale, so he sits on the curb next to the Impala and tries to decide what to do. He’s got his head in his hands when he hears a car door closing and footsteps approaching.

He’d know those dumb black polished shoes anywhere. “I told her I wasn’t going to drive.”

“That’s good to know.” Cas crouches down. “Seems like you’re having a bit of a rough night.”

“People get drunk, Officer. It’s a thing. You should try it sometime.”

“So, nothing’s wrong?”

Dean snaps his head up and, again, that’s a mistake, but he’s so tired of everyone and their nosy concern. “Why do people keep asking me that? Jesus. Nobody here can mind their own damn business.”

Cas just looks at him, his eyes nearly black in the shadowy light. Absurdly, Dean misses the blue. “Mind if I sit down?”

“Suit yourself.”

It’s warmer with Cas beside him. It shouldn’t be, but it is. Maybe he’s blocking the wind. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, but Ella seemed to think you got some bad news this evening.”

“So she called the cops on me.”

“She called me because she was worried about you.”

Dean huffs out a breath. “Well, sorry you don’t have a magic photo album to use on me.” What would even be in it? The couple of pictures he has of his mom before she died? Maybe one from his dad’s funeral before flipping to Sam on his graduation day. The concrete under his ass is freezing and he shifts a little, bumping into Cas’s shoulder. It’s solid and steady, and Cas doesn’t pull away. Something about that makes Dean spill his guts. “Sam called. He’s not coming home for Christmas break. His girlfriend invited him to go skiing with her family.”

“I’m sorry. I know you were looking forward to seeing him.”

“Yeah, well. He’s got his own life now.” It comes out angrier than Dean intended. They sit in silence until Dean starts to shiver.

“Ok,” Cas says, getting to his feet. “Let’s go.”

It’s gonna suck to have to break this to Bobby, but Dean’s not going to make things worse, so he nods and holds his arms in front of him, hands side by side. A flicker of confusion crosses Cas’s face. “No, Dean. Not like that.”

Sighing, Dean puts his hands behind his back instead. “It’s more awkward in the car this way.”

Cas is suddenly at eye level, crouched down and looking at Dean with something unreadable in his eyes. “Dean, I’m not arresting you.”

Dean blinks up at him. “You’re not?”

“I’d just like to get you home safely.”

“Oh.” He lets his hands fall to his sides. “Oh, ok.” Cas reaches out a hand and Dean grabs onto it. His palm is warm and strong and Dean lets him pull him up to his feet. “Thanks,” he says belatedly, still holding onto Cas as he gets himself steadied. When he lets go, Cas puts an easy hand on his shoulder and helps steer him to the passenger seat. Once he’s buckled in, Dean can’t help but look into the back, remembering the lonely hopelessness he’d felt the last time he was picked up after a bar fight. So much frustration and pain had exploded out of him, greased by too much shitty whiskey and his own stupid mouth.

Tonight, though, he just feels sad. Sad about Sam. Sad about his future always going in directions he can’t seem to control. He’s drunk and miserable, but while he felt pretty lonely sitting there on the curb, Cas is here now, driving him home. Ella didn’t rat him out and Cas didn’t come to arrest him. They’ve only known him for a couple of months but they both cared enough to make sure he was all right, cared more about him than he could bring himself to. Now there are tears in his eyes, blurring his vision as the realization of this kindness washes over him. He blinks hard and turns away, pretending to look out the window as he scrubs at his eyes with the cuff of his jacket. If Cas notices, he’s kind enough not to say anything and that’s enough to have one more tear streaking down his face. He presses his forehead against the cold glass and stays quiet for the rest of the ride.

“Here we are,” Cas says almost gently.

Dean fumbles with the seatbelt. “Thanks.” He knows Cas has literally gone out of his way to bring him home and that should be enough. It’s already so much more than he deserves, but the thought of going into the empty house right now is almost more than he can bear. “Hey, I want to show you something. Come in and see what I found under the carpet.”

He waits for impatience to cross over Cas’s face, but instead he reaches for his own seatbelt. “I’d like that.”

Cas stands close beside him on the porch, lets Dean lean on him when his balance wavers as he tries to get his keys out of his pocket. He drops them onto the porch floor. “I can do it,” he insists, as Cas starts to bend down for them. It takes him a couple of tries and he has to close one eye before he can line things up properly, but he eventually gets the door unlocked. “Ta-da!” he says, mostly to himself.

The front room is a mess but he takes Cas over to see the dusty, uncovered wood floor. “Why would they carpet over this?”

When Cas answers, he’s looking at Dean and not the floor. “People cover up all sorts of things.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, scuffing at the wood with the toe of his boot. “These are gonna be nice when I’m done.”

“I’m sure whoever ends up here will appreciate your hard work.”

The thought of going back to Sioux Falls for Christmas without his brother hits him anew. “I still, uh, I still have a lot I could do,” he says. But he can’t think of anything specific and he feels his eyes start to fill again.

Cas must notice because he takes pity on him. “Let’s get you into bed,” he says and steers him toward the bedroom.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Dean tries not to think about the warmth of Cas’s body directly behind him, how nice it would be to press up against him, to feel every firmly muscled inch. God, his bed looks amazing. Dean flops down onto it face first, then rolls himself onto his back.

Cas is watching him with amusement. “Girls aren’t really my thing.”

Dean feels a swoop in his stomach that has nothing to do with the alcohol. “No?”

“No,” Cas says simply. He turns to help untie Dean’s boots, leaving Dean with a view of his ass. That uniform does things to Dean. He’s seen Cas in jeans too but there’s just something about the slim, close fit of the uniform and the power it conveys that makes Dean a little weak in the knees. It’s a damn fine look on Cas.

“Why, thank you,” Cas says and  _oh shit_ apparently Dean said some of that out loud.

He pulls a pillow over his face. “Just leave me here to die.”

Cas easily plucks the pillow away. “No dying.” His face turns serious. “Do you want me to take your keys so I can bring the car back to you tomorrow?”

Dean pushes up on one elbow. “Nice try. I may be drunk but I’m not that drunk. You don’t get to drive my car.”

Cas laughs. “It was worth a try. Get some sleep, Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean reaches out a hand almost blindly and Cas stops his move toward the door. Dean tries to think of what to say. _Thank you_ seems insufficient. Maybe  _sorry_. Maybe  _I like guys, too,_ although all that talk about Cas’s butt probably gave that away. He finally settles on, “Good night.”

Dean thinks maybe there’s a hand smoothing back his hair as he lets his eyes drift shut.

*

It’s almost noon when Dean wakes the next morning. He’s somehow burrito-d himself in the covers, wrapping the blanket around himself while still lying on top of it, but once he untangles himself, he doesn’t feel too awful, all things considered. Sitting up is an adventure, though, as his head pounds, but there’s no time to ease into things, not when his bladder is insisting on being his first priority. He staggers to the bathroom to take care of that, washing his hands after, then scooping handful after handful of cold water into his mouth. It’s pretty much the best thing he’s ever tasted.

He considers flopping back into bed, but from the bathroom window he can see Georgina wandering around nibbling at plants along the walkway. So he starts some coffee and puts on his coat before grabbing a box of cereal. The cold is bracing but it feels good, forcing him to power through the fuzzy-headed feeling he woke up with.

Georgina meets him on the back porch, her hooves surprisingly dainty as she climbs the wooden stairs. He sits, and she stands at his shoulder, waiting patiently as he crams a handful of cereal into his mouth, then holds one out for her. It tickles his hand as she chews and crunches. He needs to shower and brush the fuck out of his teeth before he can walk back into town to get his car. The thought alone exhausts him.

“Stay,” he tells her, when the smell of coffee starts to make its way from the kitchen. She looks at him like she understands and doesn’t follow him inside, but maybe that has more to do with the fact that he’s left the cereal box there. He pours himself a mug of coffee, and he’s just settled back outside again when Cas’s truck pulls into his driveway.

Georgina lifts her head from the now ripped open box to watch Cas approach.

“Don’t fall for that,” Dean tells her softly. “He doesn’t have anything for you.” Although, knowing Cas, he probably has a bag full of goat treats in his jacket pocket for just this occasion. Idly, he wonders if goats like stickers. Despite Dean’s warning, Georgina leaves his side to greet Cas. “Traitor,” Dean calls after her.

“Hello, Georgina.” Cas reaches down to pet her. “Our friend looks a little rough today, doesn’t he?”

Dean wants to make a smart remark, but the truth is he owes Cas a hell of a debt from last night. “Lucky for me, local law enforcement saw fit to get my sorry ass home before I did anything too stupid.”

Cas stands and regards him, his eyes soft. “How’re you feeling this morning?”

“About what you’d expect.” Cas winces a little at that, but Dean shrugs. “Could be a lot worse.”

“I thought I’d come by and see if you wanted a ride to pick up your car.”

Dean runs a hand through his hair. “I’d appreciate that. I was going to shower and then start heading that way.”

“I’m in no rush.”

Georgina abandons them both to wander into the workshop. “You want coffee while you wait?”

Cas looks away for a moment, like he’s trying to decide, and Dean worries that he’s taking up too much of his time. Then he smiles slightly and says. “I’d like that.”

He follows Dean inside and Dean can feel his eyes on him as he takes down a mug and pours the coffee. “I don’t know how you take it,” he says, and suddenly it feels like he should know.

“A little sugar, please.”

Not like Dean’s been doing any baking, but he knows he has some sugar packets in a drawer. He digs through and pulls out a handful and when he turns around Cas has come close, standing right in his personal space.

“Here ya go,” Dean thrusts the sugar at him, aware of how disgusting he is, probably still reeking of stale alcohol and sweat. He probably imagines that Cas lets his hand linger a moment too long as he takes the packets. “I’m…” he jerks a thumb toward the door. “I’m gonna get ready. Make yourself comfortable.”

Cas nods, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. Dean scurries off to the bedroom to grab some clean clothes. “Get it together, you dumbass,” he chides himself. He’s embarrassed himself enough last night between the drunkenness and the crying and the talking about Cas’s ass. Oh Jesus Christ, he drunk-rambled about Cas’s ass. And here’s Cas back again this morning checking up on him. Cas, who Dean is pretty sure told him last night that he’s into guys. There’s no way. Dean doesn’t have good things like this happen.

When he opens the bedroom door, Cas is still in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his mug in both hands. Dean, his clean clothes bundled against his chest, waves—he actually motherfucking  _waves—_ as he crosses over to the bathroom. Closing the door behind him, he drops his head against the wood with a soft thunk. He turns on the shower, leaving the water cold. Like somehow Cas won’t know he’s in here taking off his clothes if the water’s already running. He squirts a big glob of toothpaste on his toothbrush and forces himself to stand under the cold water until he’s done brushing. He’s not sure it does anything other than distract him from his own idiocy, but that’s good enough for starters.

By the time he’s dressed again, he’s at least feeling confident enough to walk back into the living room without doing anything ridiculous like waving.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.” He checks that he has his keys, wallet, and phone. He’s tempted to bring up Cas trying to get his hands on the Impala last night, but that might open up too many other topics of conversation.

In the truck, though, Dean knows he has to say something. “I, uh, really do want to thank you for getting me home.”

Cas glances over at him. “You looked like you needed a friend last night.”

_Friend._ There are a lot of things Cas could’ve said.  _Someone to talk to, a little support, a helping hand_. He lets that word roll through him and it feels like an answer to a question he hadn’t been brave enough to ask. “Yeah, I guess.” He tries to lighten the mood. “Honestly, it’s not the usual treatment I get from the cops.”

“About that…” Cas clears his throat. “It seems like you’ve maybe had some run-ins with the law before.”

No wonder Cas only sees him as a friend, and even that feels precarious if he’s wanting to go down this particular road. “I mean, not a lot. I’ve been in a couple of bar fights, I guess.”

“You guess?”

A hot rush of embarrassment radiates through Dean at letting himself think there was anything more to Cas showing up this morning. He may not be in uniform but it’s clear now that he’s doing his job nonetheless, digging for details after witnessing Dean’s pathetic performance last night. Pretty ironic that Dean’s been playing Mr Fix-It here in Iowa while his real life is such a broken mess.

Dean works his jaw for a moment as he decides how to respond. Realizing there’s nothing left to lose, he decides to go with full disclosure. “I was having a kind of rough time at home. Got arrested once for punching a homophobic asshole outside a bar. When I got the cops called on me a second time for another fight a few months later, my uncle put his foot down. It’s, uh, why I’m here.”

Cas gives him a sharp look. “If you’re on some sort of community service—”

“No, not like that.” Dean feels himself closing off under this new scrutiny, but he supposes it was always just a matter of time. “In South Dakota, after three disorderly conduct misdemeanors, the next one’s a felony. My uncle wanted me to have some time away to get my head on straight. Me taking on this project was the deal we made.”

“I see.”

“So yeah, Dean Winchester, fuck up extraordinaire, at your service.”

“I don’t think you’re a fuck up, Dean.” Cas says it too quickly and Dean knows it’s a lie.

“Well,” Dean says. “Turns out you don’t know me that well.” As he pulls into the parking lot, Cas opens his mouth to say something more, but Dean cuts him off. “Thanks again, man. You went above and beyond last night. I appreciate it.”

He firmly closes the truck door behind him before Cas can get anything else out.

With his keys in his hand, Dean moves toward his car, ready to shut himself inside, drive home, and lick his wounds. He should be used to this by now, to the way he always manages to become his own worst enemy, sabotaging relationships of all sorts. At least Dean will be the one leaving this time, that’ll make for a pleasant change. He thinks back to his first days in Linden, and the annoyance he’d felt at everyone knowing his name and his business even before he’d stepped foot in the city limits. He should’ve kept to those initial instincts, keeping to himself so that he could finish his job and get the hell out of here. Instead, he’s made a drunken spectacle of himself. After he’s gone, the people here will probably be telling that story for years to come.

But that’s still a few weeks away. If he were in Sioux Falls now, he’d simply find another place to eat and drink, doing what he could to eternal sunshine this place right out of his mind. Unless he wants to cook for himself full time, though, he can’t avoid the Nail ‘n’ Ale forever. Besides, he knows now that Ella had been trying to do the right thing. Sighing, he pivots away from his car.

Ella looks over at the sound of the bell and, seeing it’s Dean, her expression goes wary, like she’s steeling herself for an unpleasant encounter. It makes something in Dean’s chest tighten to see it. He’s probably a foot taller than she is, but that look on her face makes him feel small.

He thought he’d have to put on his best sheepish smile, but instead he finds himself swallowing hard as he heads toward her. “Hey.”

“Hey, Dean.”

“I wanted to thank you for looking out for me last night.”

She waves him off. “It was nothing.”

“It was definitely not nothing.”

“You got home ok?”

“Yeah, had my very own police escort.”

She winces a little. “I hope you’re not mad about that. You just seemed really bummed out and it wasn’t like I was calling the cops on you, not exactly? I knew that you and Cas were friends and I didn’t know who else to call.”

_Friends._

He shakes his head. “It was the right call.”

“Are you...feeling better today?”

“I am.” He looks at the menu board. “A little hungry actually.”

Smiling, she nods to his barstool. “Take your seat.”


	6. Chapter 6

Dean spends the next week or so doubling down on keeping to himself and finishing the house. The sooner it’s done, the sooner he can get back to Sioux Falls and start his real life up again. He’ll go back to his job at the garage and he’ll find himself a shitty apartment so that he can finally be out of Bobby’s hair. If nothing else, this trip has left him with an entirely new appreciation for Sioux Falls and the freedom it allows for him to live anonymously. He’s seen again and again how letting people get too close invariably backfires. It’s a lesson he should’ve learned the moment his mom was ripped away from him when he was four years old. And if not then, from the way his dad was gone, buried in his own grief, alive but far from present. Dean poured his heart and soul into Sam, and he’ll always have the pride in that job well done, but it led to yet another inevitable parting. People don’t stay, at least not with him.

Easier to be the one who leaves first.

His time in Linden had been fun while it lasted. In a messed-up way, it reminded him of all those times his dad moved them and he ended up being the new kid in school. With each new place there was that brief period of time when people looked at him and imagined the possibilities that could fill his blank slate. It always ended the same way, though, once they got to know him.

While some things haven’t changed, he’s sure about one thing: he won’t let Bobby down again. This time away helped, there’s no denying that. He’s proud of what he’s accomplished with this house. Proud of taking walls and floors and rooms and making them into a home, a place where someone can live quietly and comfortably.

He walks through the house doing his best to see it with a critical eye. It’s not fancy, but it’s solid and clean. The fresh paint brightens what were once dark corners. The floors have been refinished and they gleam softly in the dim mid-December sunlight. He runs his hand over the grain of the kitchen cabinets, sanded and stained to a rich honey color, and he flicks on the new faucet in the sink just to see how smoothly it flows.

He picks up the card for the realtor that he pulled off the bulletin board at the Nail ’n’ Ale. There’s really no point in putting it off any longer. Once it’s on the market, he’ll pack up his things and clear out so that the house can be shown without any trace of him ever having been there. He takes out his phone and starts to dial, but stops halfway through.

There are all these things Rufus left behind. Big things like furniture but also the bedding and dishes and towels that he’s been using. He should really figure out what to do with them first. Rufus said he didn’t want any of it, but maybe Dean should contact him and see if he’s changed his mind. Dean could pack up a u-haul and drive it all down to him, spend Christmas some place where he won’t be up to his ass in snow.

Speaking of which.

Last time he was in town, there was chatter about a storm moving in. Since his phone is in his hand, he checks the weather app and, sure enough, they’re expecting a decent-sized snowfall starting later in the day.

That’ll give him some time to focus on these final details. It might take a few extra days to make things perfect, but it’ll pay off in the long run if the house sells faster and for a better price. Tucking the business card safely in a drawer, he calls Bobby and gives him an overdue update.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come out and see the place in person first?” he asks again. “Rufus gave it to you.”

“I trust you,” Bobby says. “What am I going to do with a house in Iowa anyhow? I’ve got a perfectly good house here. Now, if  _you_ wanted to keep it...”

Dean knows Bobby is trying to be generous, but he can’t shake his first response which is that Bobby wants him to stay gone. “What would I even do here? I told you there’s not even a mechanic for thirty miles.”

“You think somebody hired me on at the salvage yard? I started that myself.”

“Yeah, yeah, and you walked uphill in the snow both ways to get there.”

“Don’t get smart with me, boy. I’m just saying it seemed like that town was growing on you.”

Dean’s aware that his calls to Bobby had moved on from  _you would not believe this place_ to stories about Georgina or Ella’s pie or projects Cas had helped him with. Obviously, he hasn’t talked to Bobby since all of that went down. “Turns out this place isn’t exactly my speed.”

“I see.” To Dean’s relief, he changes the subject. “So, is there something you want to do special for Christmas? It’ll be different without your brother coming home.”

“He told you that?” Breaking that news was partially why he’d been putting off this call.

“Of course he did. He called me right after he talked to you.”

“Oh.” That possibility hadn’t even occurred to Dean. “We don’t have to do anything.”

“I’m not asking like that. I’m just wondering if there’s something different you want to do this year.”

“I’ll think about it,” Dean says, as he paces around the front room. Last year Sam was there and Lisa, too. This year it’ll just be Dean and Bobby, and that hardly feels worth celebrating. He wonders what Cas will do for Christmas. If he has to work or if he still has family outside of Des Moines to spend the day with. “I was gonna check with Rufus and see if maybe he wants me to drive down anything he left here.”

Bobby hesitates but he doesn’t argue. “I’ve got you back on the schedule for right after New Years.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll be there.”

“Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“You done good, son. All those pictures you’ve sent...the place looks great.” He clears his throat. “I was gonna save this for Christmas, but just in case, I’ll tell you now. Whatever we get for that house, half of it’s yours.”

Dean stops pacing. “But Rufus gave this place to you.” That’s not what he means exactly. He means that Bobby has already done so much for him. Whether it’s bankrolling the work on this house, or giving Dean this leave of absence while keeping his job open for him, or always having a place under his roof for him and Sam.

“I know. Which means I can damn well do what I please with the money.”

“I’ll start looking for a place to live when I get back,” Dean promises.

“That’s not why. You stay with me as long as you like. Hell, I’ve missed having your ornery ass around. But you’ve worked hard and maybe this can help you figure out what it is you want for yourself next.”

*

He calls Rufus, who tells him in no uncertain terms to get rid of whatever he doesn’t want. Walking from room to room, Dean thinks maybe he should see if the people in town want some of the things. Ella might want the dishes. He’s got half a bag of grain he could donate to one of the other people who looks after Georgina. Maybe Matthew or somebody would like his duplicate tools.

Checking the kitchen, he sees that he’s got enough food to last him through the next few days. It’ll make for some unconventional meals, but everything he eats is one less thing to pack or get rid of. He’ll ride out the storm, disperse the contents of the house, then head for home.

He spends some time sorting and boxing things up, stacking them up in in the front room for now. He fixes himself a poor excuse for a lunch, then flops onto his bed instead of tackling more work. Cas will be glad to have the pain in his ass gone. He’ll have his quiet town back in order, where he can carry on monitoring skateboard traffic and assisting sweet, confused little old ladies.

Without meaning to, he thinks about Cas sitting beside him on that curb, about him holding out a hand to help Dean up. About the feel of his palm on Dean’s ankle as he untied his boot laces. Jesus, Dean’s swooning over an ankle touch like a Victorian woman in need of a fainting couch. Or something. Does it count if it’s his own ankle?

Anyhow.

A gust of wind hard enough to rattle his window distracts him from that line of thinking. It’s been flurrying on and off all morning, but that’s been replaced with big, swirling flakes. He sits up and watches as the snow quickly begins to cover the ground. He watches, letting his eyes unfocus as snow fills the air. It’s strangely calming and, when his phone buzzes in that steady, insistent way that indicates a call, it feels like he’s being pulled out of a trance.

He picks it up off his pillow and checks the caller I.D. Cas. That’s...unexpected. At least with a phone call, Dean doesn’t have to revisit the terse week-old texts where Cas clearly felt it was his duty to check in on him.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas. What’s up?”

“Is Georgina at your place?”

“I haven’t seen her for a few days.” Dean’s been at the house a lot so he would’ve noticed if she’d been around.

“Hmmm.”

“Is everything ok?”

“Probably. When a storm comes around, we like to make sure she’s safe at one of her known places.”

This fucking town will never cease to amaze him. “That’s one of your jobs?”

He can almost see the irritated look on Cas’s face when he responds. “No. But none of the other folks whose places she frequents have your number, so they asked if I could contact you and check.”

That tracks; Cas is stuck dealing with him on official business and only as a last resort. “Well, I can go out and check and let you know.”

“That would be much appreciated.”

“Ok, well, let me go do that.”

He hangs up and goes to put on his warm coat before stepping out into the thickly falling snow. A quick search of the outbuilding shows no sign of her. It leaves Dean a little unsettled, seeing how cold it’s gotten.

He pulls out his phone and debates calling Cas back, but ultimately settles on a text.  _She’s not here._

Cas doesn’t respond.

A gust of wind swirls around the building, blowing snow in through the open door. Dean hopes she’s found some shelter somewhere, but in case she tries to make her way here, he’ll get the space ready. He spreads some fresh hay in the corner farthest from the door before shaking her blanket out and making her bed on top of it. He uses a pair of cement blocks to brace the door so that she can get in, but to keep the wind from blowing it completely open. He’s making his way back from the house with her freshly filled water bowl when a police car pulls into his driveway.

 _Shit._ Dean figured Cas had contacted him because he had no other choice. He sure as hell wasn’t expecting to see him.

To give himself a minute to think, Dean continues his way into the outbuilding and sets the water bowl down. He’s pouring grain into her food bowl when Cas steps inside.

He looks good. He’s got his cold-weather gear on, boots instead of the polished shoes, a warm black knitted cowl at his throat, and what appear to be leather gloves. The radio handset is clipped to a shoulder tab on his heavy jacket and there’s a dusting of snow on the flat top of his hat. He looks...official. Much like he did the first time he showed up at Dean’s house to take him to task for defying the burn ban. Dean knows he’s the one who reversed the course of the easy relationship they’d managed to build, but it doesn’t make the almost tentative look on Cas’s face any easier to bear. Dean can feel Cas’s eyes on him as he silently finishes arranging Georgina’s bowls.

“Still no sign of her?”

“No. But I thought I’d get things ready in case she showed up.”

“That was good thinking.” The praise comes as a surprise and Dean isn’t sure what to do with that little flutter of pleasure he gets from Cas’s approval. When he braves a look at him, Cas’s face has softened into a gentle smile and Dean finds himself smiling back.

“Are you seriously on goat patrol now?”

Cas shrugs a shoulder. “People around here know how to handle a snowstorm. If I have time to help check up on a vulnerable animal, I’ll do that.”

Dean can’t stop from rolling his eyes. “Ok, where do we start?”

Cas waits inside the warm house as Dean gets his scarf, hat, and gloves. Dean catches him looking at the boxes of giveaway items he’s stacked up, but he doesn’t say anything about them.

Outside, as big soft flakes fall from the sky, Cas explains that the plan is to walk a loop through the various places Georgina is generally seen. Not wanting to push his luck on whatever delicate truce they’ve found, Dean makes a suggestion. “Should we split up? Cover more ground?”

Cas studies the horizon where the clouds are still moving in, heavy and steely grey. “Better stick together. Safer that way.”

The prospect that Cas might not want to ditch him first chance he gets has Dean running his stupid mouth. “Did you want to cuff us together as an extra precaution?”

“It’s surprisingly easy to get disoriented when snow covers all your landmarks.” Cas says, not rising to the bait.

Dean does his own squinting at the horizon. There are only a couple of inches on the ground. “If you say so.”

Even though he has gloves on, Dean keeps his hands shoved in his pockets because he’s not sure what to do with them. They walk mostly in silence, but it’s a comfortable silence, their feet crunching in the accumulating snow and their breath forming foggy mists. He follows Cas’s lead, stopping when he stops to study the open land. “She shouldn’t be that hard to find if she’s out here,” Cas says. “The snow will make it easier for her to be seen.”

Dean thinks about the dead brown grass that covers much of the landscape in fall and winter. Basically Georgina camouflage. “Someone would call you if she turned up, right?”

Nodding, Cas digs his phone out of his winter jacket. “Nothing so far.” They keep walking and, as they move through an open field, Dean shakes his head a little and huffs out a breath. Cas turns to look at him. “What?”

“I can’t believe this is my life now, out here trudging through a blizzard to find a goddamn goat.” Truth is, he’s worried about Georgina. The snow won’t just make it easier for them to spot her, it’ll make her a target for all kinds of predators. But he’s sure as hell not going to admit that. Not to Cas who is still staring at him, expressionless.

“First of all, this isn’t a blizzard.”

Dean smacks himself in the forehead. “Definitely the point I was making, buddy.”

“Secondly, you volunteered to come along.”

Dean doesn’t have an answer to that, so they walk a bit more, the silence now strained. Dean’s not sure exactly where they are, but he knows they’ve been heading north. The snow continues to fall thick and heavy and he’s absurdly distracted by the layer of it clinging to the top of Cas’s dumb hat. They both hear Cas’s phone chime, and Cas takes a little bit of shelter under a tree so that he can see the screen.

Dean watches him expectantly, but Cas just shakes his head. “Nothing.”

They stand under the canopy of bare branches which provides a bit of respite from the wind. “What now?”

Cas’s face is flushed pink in the cold. His lips look chapped and Dean keeps finding himself staring at them, wondering how they’d feel. “I’m going to continue looking.”

“Ever the hero, huh?” Dean smirks because, if nothing else, he knows how to get a rise out of Cas. Besides, he’ll be gone soon and this entire town will forget about him.

Cas reacts, but not in the way Dean expects. He’s primed for another cold look, maybe a sigh and a stomping off to continue the search. Instead Cas gets right in his face, backing him up until he’s nearly pinned against the tree trunk. “You can play this game all you want. Pretend to be the ‘ _I’m too cool to care’ Dean Winchester_. The problem is, I’ve seen too much of you otherwise. Because you’re the guy who offered to fix my truck for free when I did you a favor. And after that first visit from Georgina, you went right out and bought what you needed to care for her, without giving it a second thought. You take pride in your work and you are so skilled with your hands that it almost leaves me breathless. You love your brother enough to be hurt when you can’t see him, and your uncle loves you enough to give you this chance to get yourself together. You are so willing to give to everyone around you while pushing back against anyone who wants to give you what you deserve.”

Dean freezes in place and it’s not from the cold. “And what’s that?”

Cas leans in and kisses him.

His lips are cold and dry but his body is so solid. Even through all those layers of warm clothes and jackets, Dean can feel how firm and solid his chest is as he pins Dean against the rough wood, hands gripping his upper arms as he kisses him. Their cold noses brush together but then Cas is probing into his mouth with his tongue and Dean’s pretty sure he could melt the entire state of Iowa with the heat that’s building inside him. Dean wraps his arms around him, pulling him even closer, shifting so that Cas can get a thigh between his legs. They kiss until they have to break apart, and now Cas’s gloved hands are on Dean’s face, his blue eyes sparkling. Dean grins at him and Cas grins back, pulling him into a hug. Dean presses his face into Cas’s neck and when he opens his eyes, he pushes Cas away. Cas looks at him, stunned and surprised, but Dean takes him by the shoulder to turn him. There, in the distance, is Georgina.

She’s not too far from the edge of the property that Dean recognizes as Matthew’s, one house down from Mildred.

Cas smiles at him, and kisses him one more time, just a gentle press of lips. Dean bumps against him with his shoulder and, close enough for their arms to brush, they walk in Georgina’s direction. Dean feels a giddiness bubbling up inside him, blocking out the cold. He scoops up a handful of snow and when Cas turns back to see why he’s stopped, he lobs it directly at him, hitting him squarely in the chest. Cas merely raises one eyebrow and calmly brushes all traces from his jacket.

“You’ll pay for that.”

Dean can’t stop grinning. “I look forward to it.”  

As they approach the property line, Georgina spots them and comes over, her head down as she steps carefully through the snow. “You ok, girl? It’s too cold to be out here alone.” Dean crouches down to pet her. “Hey Cas, how are we going to get her to come with us?”

“Matthew should have some rope we can use to make her a lead.”  

Dean stays with Georgina as Cas goes to talk with Matthew, who disappears into his garage to get the rope. He’s still there checking her over when Matthew comes back. Only it’s not Matthew, he realizes. It’s too small and he’s pretty sure Matthew doesn’t wear a pink nightgown. It’s Mildred, and at least she’s wearing boots and what appears to be her husband’s warm winter coat over the nightgown.

Cas is standing by the garage when he spots her and he calls her name in that super calm way that Dean knows means he’s trying not to alarm her. “Mildred, hello.”

There’s maybe thirty feet between them, close enough for Mildred to recognize Cas if she’s able to, and there’s a long, charged moment while they wait to see how she’ll respond. Instead of greeting him, she stops walking, planting her feet firmly, and pulling something out of her pocket.

Despite the wind, or maybe because of it, her thin voice carries across the yard. “I told you not to come around when Jerry isn’t home.”

It doesn’t make sense what Dean’s seeing. It doesn’t make sense, his brain won’t wrap around it, and when it finally does he can’t get there in time to stop it. As he crouches there beside Georgina, the object in her hands becomes clear.

Without another word, she shoots Cas.


	7. Chapter 7

The bullet catches him right in the chest, and Cas is thrown back against the garage by the force of the impact. His head smacks the brick with a sickening  _thunk_ before he crumples to the ground. Matthew appears at once, drawn by the sharp crack of the shot that seems to keep echoing in Dean’s ears. They both stand stock still with a wary eye on Mildred who calmly drops the gun into the snow and turns to walk away. Matthew runs to secure the gun while Dean crosses to Cas as fast as his shaking legs will carry him.

His hat has flown off and Dean can see blood pinkening the snow under his head. Heart pounding, Dean kneels beside him. “Cas. Cas.”

Cas’s eyes flutter open then drift shut again. Dean’s mind is churning. Who the fuck do you call when the one cop has been shot. He grabs the handset of Cas’s radio from his shoulder and squeezes down the button. “Officer Novak has been shot,”  he says to whoever the fuck is listening. “Please send help.”

A voice, infuriatingly calm, crackles over the radio. “What is your location, sir?”

By now, Matthew has approached and Dean thrusts the handset at him. “Give them your address.” Cas’s eyes are opening again, and Dean takes his hand. “Cas? Help is coming, ok? Just hang on.”

“I’m ok, Dean,” Cas manages, through labored breaths.  

Dean should be doing something. He just can’t think of what. He should be putting pressure on the wound. “Just stay still, Cas.” He takes a deep breath and forces himself to unzip Cas’s jacket.

There’s no immediate onslaught of blood and maybe that’s worse. Maybe that means the bullet is doing more internal damage. Maybe if he rolls Cas over he’ll find that he’s lying in a spreading pool of blood.  

Cas pushes up on one elbow. “I’m fine, Dean.” Then he winces and stops, lying flat again. “A little dizzy.”

“You got shot, Cas. Please lie down.” Shit, he must be in shock and who the hell knows how long it’s going to take an ambulance to get here. Frantically, Dean pats his chest, trying to find the entrance wound.

“Dean.” Cas grabs his hand. “I’m fine. I have my vest on.”

“You what?”

“My bulletproof vest.”

Dean’s been kneeling beside Cas but now he sinks down onto his heels. “Your bulletproof vest,” he says weakly.

“Yes.”

“You’re not...you didn’t...” Dean’s head is spinning.

Cas tries again to push himself upright. “Where’s Mildred? Is she all right?”

“Matthew has the gun. I don’t know where she went.”

“We need to find her.” He grabs at Dean’s arm to help him sit up.  

“You’re not going anywhere. Help is on the way.”

“I’m ok,” Cas insists, but he’s deathly pale and Dean can see that every change in position is causing him distress.

“I’ll check on her,” Matthew says, handing the radio back.

“Just get a visual. Don’t approach her.”

“Jesus Christ, can you stop being a cop for five minutes. You just got shot.”

Cas’s shoulders slump. “My head hurts.”

“I bet it does.” Dean blinks away the vision of Cas’s body getting thrown backwards. “You hit it pretty hard when you went down.” He unwraps his scarf and folds it up to hold against the back of Cas’s head. His hair is matted with blood but Dean can’t tell how bad the damage is. “Honestly, lying in the snow was probably pretty good first aid.”

Cas leans heavily against Dean, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder. They sit together until a siren begins to wail in the distance. When Matthew goes to direct the ambulance crew from the road, Dean presses a small kiss against Cas’s temple. “Doing ok?”

Cas starts to nod, but stops again, the movement too much. “Yeah.” He turns to face Dean. “I know I hit my head but that part was real, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, smiling. “Definitely real.”

“Ok, good.”

Dean doesn’t let go of him until the paramedics make him move.

*

They have him on a stretcher and ready to go in no time. Dean’s left holding the bloodied scarf and he picks up Cas’s hat from where it got shoved aside, and stands there watching the ambulance pull away.

“Do you need a ride home?” Matthew asks.

“Where’s Georgina?”

“She’s in the garage.”

“If I can borrow your rope, I can take her back with me.”

“Of course. We can load her in my truck.”

Dean shakes his head. “I can walk. Tory is gonna need you here. Thank you. For everything.”

He’s so thankful that Matthew was here, and he’s hit with the urge to hug him but he doesn’t want to risk getting blood on him.

“You sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

They meandered quite a bit to get here, but walking directly should only take Dean about twenty minutes. Luckly, Georgina comes with him easily, keeping pace even with his long strides. He tries to focus on the snow as he walks, letting the drifting of it calm him, but all he can see is Cas being thrown backwards, his head hitting the wall. It’s playing on a loop in his mind and he has to suck in big deep breaths of cold air to combat it. Despite being warm from walking, as the adrenaline leaves his system, he can’t stop shivering.

Back at home, he settles Georgina in the workshop with her food and bed before going inside to wash his trembling hands.

Cas’s squad car is parked alongside the Impala and he has no idea what’s going to happen with that. He unlocks the Impala and gets inside, setting Cas’s hat on the passenger seat. The roads are getting slick but there’s no way he’s going to sit at home and wait to hear something, so he pulls off his gloves and lets the familiar feel of the steering wheel soothe him. He passes by Mildred’s house on his way out of town to see that there are already two state highway patrol cars on site. Only then does it cross his mind that it’s a crime scene.

The hospital is forty-five minutes away on a good day, and it takes him just over an hour as he navigates in the snow. He parks and goes into the Emergency Department where he’s informed that Cas is there, being seen. Dean’s not sure what to do so he finds himself a seat in the waiting room. He sits there for a long time before it occurs to him that Cas might have his phone.

_I’m here._

_In the waiting room I mean._

There’s nothing for almost fifteen minutes, time he spends convincing himself that somehow the situation was much worse than it appeared, that maybe he hit his head harder than they’d realized or another bullet somehow got through the protective vest. He knows that doesn’t make any sense, there had only been the one unmistakeable shot, piercing the silence of the snowy landscape. But with no other information forthcoming, he has to get to his feet and pace.

Finally his phone buzzes.

**I told them to let you come back.**

A few moments later, just as Dean’s ready to go show this text to the triage nurse like it’s good for one free admission, they call for him and Dean’s escorted back behind the double doors.

Cas looks pretty good. He’s pale and his hair is a wreck, but he’s sitting up in bed and he smiles when Dean appears. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here.”

“Now you sound like me.” Dean takes his outstretched hand. “Besides, what was I going to do? Sit at home?” He looks him over. “What did the doctor say?”

Cas gestures with his free hand. “Couple of staples in my scalp. Mild concussion. I just got back from x-ray so they could check for broken ribs. I need to take it easy for a bit, but nothing major.”

“You got  _shot_ , Cas. That’s major.”

“My equipment did its job.” He sighs. “They are putting me on leave, though.”

“Yeah, I should hope so.”

“I’m fine, Dean. A little banged up but that’s it.”

“You’re coming to stay with me,” Dean says, making the decision then and there.

Cas narrows his eyes. “What?”

“You’re coming to stay with me. It’s snowing and you need to rest and I have the space.”

“I...you don’t—”

“End of discussion.”

Cas’s face softens. “All right.”

Dean settles into the chair next to him and they wait. Cas dozes, stirring when his phone chimes with a new text. Dean grabs it from the bedside table and silences it, but it continues to buzz on and off with texts and calls. He doesn’t read them, but a quick glance shows that half the town is sending their good wishes to him. Dean watches him sleep, staring at his profile and marking the reassuring rise and fall of his chest. He watches him until the doctor comes back to announce that there are no broken ribs, just substantial bruising.

She gives Cas the go-ahead to get dressed and checks with Dean that he’s the ride home before going over a few more instructions. When Dean scrambles for something to take notes with, she reassures Dean that it’ll all be printed out.

They both thank her and when Cas starts to toss back the covers, Dean hands him the plastic bag marked patient belongings that contains his clothes. “I’ll, uh, go pull the car around,” he says, then leaves him to get dressed in private.

Trudging to the parking structure, Dean tries to get a grip on all that’s happened in the scope of one day. Cas kissed him. Kissed him hard and tender and like he couldn’t get enough. Dean can almost still feel his spine pressing against the tree as Cas’s body pinned him there. And then moments later, that was all but forgotten. Dean doesn’t know where they stand now, clearly Cas has bigger concerns, but still he’d let Dean hold him in the aftermath and reached for Dean’s hand in the hospital. But now Dean’s taking him back to his house and suddenly he’s worried he’s giving Cas mixed messages about where they are in their...well, whatever the hell they’re in at the moment. The last thing he wants is for Cas to worry about any of this, so as soon as Cas is loaded in the front seat of the Impala, Dean lays out the plan.

“I figure we can stop by your place to pick up whatever you need. I should really grab some groceries, but if that’s too much for you, I can swing back into town later and do it. I’ll put you in my room and take one of the upstairs bedrooms.”

“First off, I’m not an invalid. You can drop me off at my place and go to the store while I get my things together.” Dean opens his mouth to protest, but Cas cuts him off. “And you don’t need to give up your bed.”

“Humor me. You need to take it easy so there’s no need to go up and down steps if you don’t have to.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?”

“I can’t believe you’re so bad at playing the  _I almost died_ card. I’d be demanding all my meals in bed.”

Cas starts to laugh, then stops, folding his arms across his midsection. “Ow. Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”

Reluctantly, Dean lets Cas go into his own apartment by himself, promising to be back as soon as he can. He drives the short distance to the market and hurries in, his head down against the whirling snow. There are plenty of cars in the lot, townspeople stocking up on things before the full brunt of the storm hits.

“Dean.” He’s stopped almost immediately by the cashier. “Any news on Cas?” Mr. and Mrs. Duncan abandon their cart and hurry over, as do a number of other people, bombarding him with questions. “Is he ok?” “We heard you were there.” “Was it really Mildred?”

Grateful that he’ll only have to go through this once as word will spread through Linden like wildfire, Dean takes a deep breath and updates them. “He’s fine. A minor concussion and some bruised ribs. He had his vest on and it saved him.” Dean clenches his fingers around the handle of the shopping cart. “I just brought him home from the hospital.”

“What does he need?” “How can we help?”

“I’m taking him back to my house to keep an eye on him and let him get some rest. He’s packing up some things while I’m here.”

“Ok, well, I’m going to bake him some of my rocky road brownies,” Mrs. Duncan decides, adding a bag of marshmallows to her cart. “He loves them.”

“Get that sharp cheddar cheese,” the clerk says, pointing to the dairy aisle. “He always picks up some of that.”

Before long, Dean has a cart full of groceries, aided by the people in the store, all of whom seem to know just what Cas likes. Allison and her mom Corinne come in at some point and, as he’s leaving, Allison runs up to him with a box of sparkly band-aids she insisted her mom buy to “make Officer Novak all better”.

Loading the groceries in the car, he gives Cas a quick  _on my way_ text from the parking lot and finds him waiting just inside the doorway, a duffel slung over his shoulder. Dean hurries to take it from him and puts it in the trunk.

He spends the drive passing along all the well wishes from the people he’s encountered and Cas smiles, pleased even as he rubs at his temples. “Ok, you are done for the day,” Dean informs him as he parks the car. “Into bed with you.”

Cas doesn’t argue with him, doesn’t protest when Dean carries his bag or closes the car door for him. Inside, he lets Dean get him settled in bed. “Other than the headache, I feel pretty good,” Cas says, but his eyes are closing again.

“You need to rest, just like the doctor said. Yell if you need me, I’ll be close.”

Before bringing in the groceries, he stops to check on Georgina, and finds her asleep on her blanket. He stands watching her for a moment, before bending to scratch between her horns. Content, she blinks up at him. “Hell of a day, huh? That was some messed up shit, but he’s ok.” He’s not really sure which one of them he’s reassuring, but he lets the image of Cas kissing him replace the one of him being shot. “I don’t know what the best goat treat is, but believe me, I’m gonna find it for you.”

He double checks that her water and food are still in good shape and then retrieves the groceries, coming back inside as quietly as he can. In the kitchen, he starts to relax for the first time in hours. Here, closed up in the house against the now-howling wind, with Cas safely in his care, Dean thinks he might actually be able to focus, and he sets to making soup.

He chops onions and celery and carrots and doesn’t think about the fact that Cas kissed him mere days before he’s supposed to head back to his real life and his job. He adds chicken to the pot and conveniently ignores the fact that Cas is currently sleeping in his bed. He tosses in herbs and seasonings and refuses to dwell on how close he came to losing Cas today. By the time the soup is simmering, he’s worked himself so far up that he needs to find more things to do. So, he cleans the downstairs bathroom, now that Cas will be using it, and he makes up one of the beds upstairs, all the while worrying that he should’ve put clean sheets on his own bed before he let Cas get in it. He’s sitting on the twin bed upstairs with his head in his hands when he hears Cas moving around downstairs.

“Pull it together,” he says to himself through gritted teeth. “You’re not the one who got shot today.” He takes a couple of deep breaths then hurries downstairs to see what Cas needs, happy to busy himself by wrapping a bag of frozen vegetables in a kitchen towel to create a makeshift ice pack.

By the time the soup is ready, Cas feels well enough to join him at the kitchen table. He’s moving gingerly but says the nap and the ice on his ribs helped. Sitting across from him, with Cas’s serious blue eyes fixed on him, there’s no way to avoid all that’s happened today.

“Are you all right?”

Dean wets his lips. “I should be asking you that.” He gestures to his chest. “No bullet holes in me.”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “Me, either. Look, Dean, witnessing that had to be pretty upsett—”

“Oh, I forgot I got some rolls.” Dean practically leaps out of his seat to retrieve them. “Did you want me to heat them up?” He keeps his back to Cas while he gets out some butter to go with them.

There’s a long pause before Cas responds. “No need to.”

Dean makes sure Cas has everything he needs, and even fixes him a cup of tea afterwards. “I should’ve thought to have you bring some of your honey with you. All I have is sugar.” He sets the steaming cup in front of Cas then turns to get a spoon, but Cas grabs his hand.

“Thank you. You’ve already done so much.” He gestures to the table. “Feeding me, letting me stay here. You don’t have to give up your bed, too.” Dean lets Cas tug him closer and when Cas tips his chin up, Dean leans down to kiss his forehead.

“What matters is that you rest and heal,” Dean says. “You’ll be most comfortable there.” A flicker of something crosses Cas’s face. “Do your ribs hurt? You’ve probably been upright too long. Go get back into bed and I’ll bring you your tea.”

When Dean returns with the hot cup of tea, Cas is sitting up in bed with a pillow behind his back.

“I told you I saw Mrs. Duncan at the store but I forgot to tell you she was buying ingredients to make you brownies.”

Cas face lights up. “Rocky road?”

“Yep.” Dean sets down the tea on the bedside table. “Everyone was crowding around wanting to know how you were. You’re practically a celebrity.”

Rolling his eyes, Cas says. “Just what I always wanted.”

“I was just glad I had good news to give them.” Dean rubs a hand at the back of his neck. “The people here...they care about you. A lot.”

“That goes both ways.” Cas pats the bed. “Why don’t you come sit down. You’ve been running around all day long.”

Dean wants to. More than anything he wants to lie on that bed with Cas beside him and let the awful part of this day disappear,  but he feels so jittery in his own skin right now and keeping moving is the only thing that’s letting him hold it together. “I would—I  _want_ to,” he amends when Cas’s smile falters, “but the snow is still coming down like crazy and I want to check on Georgina one more time.”

“You brought her back here?”

“Yeah.” It hadn’t occurred to him to do anything else. “I walked her back here and got her all set up out of the storm. And she’s caused enough trouble for one day, so I’m keeping a close eye on her.”

In the time it takes for him to shovel the back steps, check on her, and come back inside, Cas is sleeping again. Dean cleans up the kitchen then tiptoes into the bedroom to grab something to sleep in before heading up the stairs. Exhaustion is dragging him under, every movement taking focused effort, and he falls into the bed gratefully. He’s got the beginnings of a headache and he works on relaxing his neck and shoulders. He tries to think about kissing Cas, the feel of his lips and the touch of his gloved hands, but he can’t make that image stay. Each time, it’s replaced with his body being flung backwards and blood in the snow.

He lies there for a long time, tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable on the unfamiliar mattress. It’s so quiet downstairs, and it’s weird knowing Cas is there. He stares at the ceiling and tries to clear his mind, tries counting backwards from one hundred by threes. He’s convinced he’ll never fall asleep but at some point, with the sound of the snow scouring the roof, he does.

When he finally sleeps, he dreams of a picnic. Sam is there, and Bobby, too. But so is Cas. Cas beckons him over and they sit together, eating peacefully in the sunshine at the edge of a lake. Cas rolls up the cuffs of his jeans and wades into the water, leaving Dean to sit lazily on a blanket. Dean rests back on his elbows and tilts his face toward the sun, his repose interrupted when Cas flicks water at him. Opening his eyes, Dean finds Cas smiling at him as the sun sparkles on the surface of the lake. He gets to his feet to join him, stepping carefully into the water, the mud cool between his toes. He scoops up a handful of clear water, just letting it run through his fingers. Cas splashes him again, and this time Dean playfully retaliates. Cas laughs, his eyes crinkling in delight, but then his face changes and his smile twists, as he brings his hands to his chest. The water Dean’s splashed on him has eaten away at his shirt and a dark, cavernous hole has opened up on his chest, skin and bone melting away as blood runs down his abdomen.

Dean wakes, sitting bolt upright with Cas’s name caught in his throat. His heart is pounding and he’s bathed in cold sweat. He untangles himself from the covers and shakily goes to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.

It’s so quiet downstairs. Dean’s sure Cas is fine, but he knows he won’t be able to sleep again unless he checks, so he makes his way downstairs and stands at the partially open bedroom door, reassuring himself that Cas is breathing. The sound comforts him, and he settles himself on the floor outside the door while he waits for the panic from the nightmare to ease its grip.

With his back against the door frame, he runs his fingers idly over the smooth, refinished wood floor, letting the repetitive motion soothe him while he tries to match his own breathing to Cas’s slow, even pace.

When next he wakes, it’s to someone tucking a blanket around him. Sleepily, he lifts his head from the floor. “I’m good,” he mumbles.

“It’s freezing out here,” Cas says. His hand is warm on Dean’s shoulder.

He sits up and rubs his eye with the heel of one hand. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

“I’ll make you a deal. Either I come sit here with you or you come lie down.”

“You don’t play fair,” Dean informs him as he gets up.

“So I’ve been told.” He points to the bed. “In.”

Dean hesitates, but he’s cold and stiff and bleary. His bed feels better than it ever has in his entire life, and the fact that there’s six feet of hot cop stretched out next to him is definitely part of the reason. Cas tugs the covers up over both of them. “Better?”

“Much.”

They lie in silence for a long time, long enough that he thinks maybe Cas has fallen back asleep. Then he softly says, “Have you changed your mind?”

Dean doesn’t need him to elaborate, and he doesn’t think twice about his response. “No. Definitely not.”

“I know my job is a lot,” Cas continues. “It might be too much to ask of you.”

At that, Dean pushes up on one elbow. “How are you even trying to reassure me right now? You got shot, Cas. You could’ve died. I saw you get hit and I just stood there. I couldn’t make my feet move, I couldn’t even yell for help.”

“It’s ok. I’m ok.”

Now that Dean’s started talking, it all comes pouring out. “I should’ve done something. I saw what was happening but it was like my brain couldn’t understand it and I didn’t react in time. I just stood there and let it happen.”

“There was nothing you could’ve done, Dean. Nothing that wouldn’t have put you in danger.”

Dean grabs for his hand. ”I just got you and...it all could’ve been taken away a minute later. Maybe I distracted you and you let your guard down. What if from now on you always associate kissing me with getting hurt.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you shoot me?”

Dean sinks back down. “Of course not.”

“None of this was your fault.” Cas touches Dean’s face, a brush of fingers against his cheek. “There’s no doubt that you are extremely enticing, but not enough to put me off doing my job properly. There’s no way we could’ve known that Mildred had a gun. She’s never been violent before. But my equipment worked just as it was supposed to and you? You stayed with me and made sure I got help.”

“How are you so calm about this?”

“Look, it’s not like I’m not freaked out. But maybe because this is something I have in the back of my head at all times, I was more prepared for it. This is going to sound odd, but now that it’s actually happened I feel almost relieved...like I know what to expect now.”

“That’s kinda messed up, but I get it.”

They lie in silence again, this time hand in hand. Finally Cas says, “You know, there were less complicated ways to get me in your bed.”

Dean laughs. “You don’t say.”

Cas squeezes his hand. “Now will you kiss me goodnight so we can both get some sleep?”

Dean obliges, leaning carefully over Cas so he doesn’t have to strain his ribs. He kisses him softly, but Cas puts a hand to the back of Dean’s head, holding him in place to lengthen the kiss. Afterwards, Dean cuddles into Cas’s side, one arm loosely across his waist. “Is this ok?”

“It’s perfect.”

With Cas warm and safe beside him, Dean at last falls into the embrace of dreamless sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean sleeps so hard that he doesn’t even hear Cas get up in the morning. The scent of coffee that greets him when he wakes smells so good that it mostly makes up for the empty bed. He gets up and pulls back the curtain only to be nearly blinded by the glare of bright sunshine on snow. From the position of the sun in the deep blue sky, he’s slept nearly until noon. With every surface blanketed in white, the world looks peaceful but he’s going to have to shovel a path to check on Georgina. He’s contemplating that when Cas appears, two mugs in his hand.

“You’re awake.”

“You should’ve woken me,” Dean says, crossing to give him a quick good morning kiss before relieving him of one of the mugs.

“I feel pretty good this morning.”

“That’s great. Don’t push your luck. Are you hungry?”

“I could eat. I really want to shower first, though.”

Dean scowls and picks up the discharge instructions from the bedside table. “This says to wait twenty-four hours.” He glances at the clock. “It’s only been twenty.”

“I don’t think anything magical happens at the twenty-four hour mark.”

“Humor me.”

“I will for four hours and not a minute more. What are we doing today?’

“ _You_ aren’t doing anything.” He waves the discharge instructions for emphasis. “Cognitive rest. No TV, no books, no phone screen.”

Cas sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed. “But I feel ok.”

“Yeah, because you aren’t doing any of this stuff.”

Cas picks up his phone from the table. “I’m afraid to even turn this back on. I promised my parents I’d call them today, though.”

“Call them and ignore the rest of it. I got the word out yesterday so people know you’re here and ok. Nobody will expect to hear from you personally.”

Still looking down at the darkened phone screen, Cas says. “I saw a missed call from Tory.”

Dean’s been so busy focusing on Cas that he’s barely given a thought to what happened to Mildred. “Did you want to talk to her?”

“I need to. I need to let her know this wasn’t her fault.”

_It kind of was_ , Dean thinks. If she knew there was a gun in the house then this whole thing could’ve been prevented. But Cas is right. There’d been nothing whatsoever to indicate this could happen, and there’s a part of him that hopes Mildred doesn’t have any memory of the entire event. It’s bad enough that Tory will have to live with it.

“Let’s have a quick breakfast first. Everything is harder on an empty stomach.”

Cas agrees and Dean gets him to eat a little bit at least, but he’s mostly picking at his food. When it’s clear that he’s just pushing it around on his plate, Dean makes him the following offer. “How about we get you set up on the couch and I’ll go check on Georgina while you make your calls.” It’ll give Cas a change of scenery at least, as well as some privacy.

“That sounds good.” Cas runs a hand through his hair. He touches gingerly at the gash on his scalp, held together by four staples.

“You need something for your head?”

“Not so far. It’s only a little tender.”

Dean gets him a blanket and a pillow from the bedroom along with his phone. “I’ll be out back. You need me, call. No texting.”

“Yes, Doctor Winchester.”

Once he has his boots and coat on, he stops to kiss Cas, then lays a hand on his cheek. “Good luck.”

Outside, the cold air leaves Dean’s lungs burning. He re-shovels the path he made last night, beginning to warm despite the bitter cold. The exertion feels good, like he’s finally loosening up all the muscles he’s had tensed since yesterday. With every breath of crisp air, his lungs feel cleaner, and by the time he gets to the door, he finds Georgina standing on the other side of it.

“Hey there, girl. You staying warm?”

She tolerates a few pats then pushes past him to step outside. On her, the snow is chest-deep and, after a few careful steps, she begins to bound through it, leaping and bleating loudly. Dean stands in the doorway and watches as she frolics, laughing as she kicks up clouds of snow, looking for all the world like a happy puppy. After a few minutes, she stands and sniffs the air, then solemnly makes her way back toward Dean.

“Get that out of your system?” He checks the status of her food and water bowls and does his best to tidy up her bedding. She nudges at his legs and he keeps having to pull the hem of his coat out of her mouth. “Gimme a minute. First things first.” When he’s satisfied that she’s well-supplied for the rest of the day, he digs into his pocket and produces an apple.

Sitting on a hay bale, he offers it to her. She tries to take the whole thing, but he holds it tightly until she gives up and bites off a chunk, which she chews loudly. “We gotta work on those manners,” he tells her, making sure she finishes it before letting her have another big bite. “Good news, though. Cas is gonna be all right.” Still chewing, she steps a little closer and Dean rests a hand on her back. “That was pretty scary what we saw yesterday, huh? But he’s real smart and he was prepared and he’s a little banged up, but he’s ok.” Georgina grabs the rest of the apple, tipping her head back as she chomps. “In fact, I’m gonna go back in and check on him.” Standing, he casts one last look around. “It’s cold so if you go outside, don’t stay out too long. And you feel free to stay here as long as you like.”

It’s quiet when he enters the house. By the time he gets his boots and layers off, Dean finds Cas sitting and staring off, his phone beside him. “How’d it go?”

Eyes still distant, Cas half-shrugs. “They’ve got Mildred in the hospital. She has some periods of lucidity when she remembers. Tory apologized about a hundred times.”

Dean sits beside him. “It’s a mess all the way around.”

“Yeah.” He heaves a slow breath. “Anyhow. How’s Georgina?”

“She’s fine. She sends you her best.”

“Does she now?”

“She wanted to make you a goat well card but she didn’t have any crayons.”

Cas laughs and the mask of stress slips away. “You’re ridiculous.”

Dean does his best to look innocent. “Hey, I’m just passing along the message.” He slaps his own knee. “Dammit, how did I not say hay-ons?”

“Dean,” Cas says, putting a hand on Dean’s wrist. “I’m going to kiss you now to stop you from talking.”

“I approve of this plan.”

There’s nothing for them to do but be together. No work, no projects, nothing but the glitter of sunshine on snow stretching out as far as the eye can see from their safe vantage point in the warm house. They take their time, letting lips and tongues explore. It’s different from the breathless first kisses where Dean thought his heart might beat right out of his chest. This is soft and sweet, leisurely and playful, kissing for the sheer enjoyment of being allowed to. Dean revels in the feel of Cas’s mouth, in the soft scrape of his stubble against Dean’s lips. He runs his thumb over the sharp line of Cas’s cheekbone, and sucks gently at the soft skin under his jaw.  

They only stop when Cas has to pull back and cover his mouth with his hand, hiding a big yawn.

“Nap time,” Dean announces.

“I’m fine.”

“You are not having a setback on my watch.”

“Ok, I’ll nap but…” Cas reaches for the pillow and tosses it onto Dean’s lap. “You stay here.”

“I can do that.”

Easing himself down onto his back, Cas stretches out. He reaches for Dean’s hand and laces their fingers together, then tucks it against his stomach. Dean uses his free hand to smooth through Cas’s hair, stroking gently again and again until Cas falls asleep.

Dean’s not even tired, but he feels relaxed enough to melt into the cushions. He takes all the time he wants to look at Cas. Despite not having done more than kiss this man, here he is already sharing a level of domestic intimacy greater than most of the relationships he’s had in the past. For once, it doesn’t feel like he’s playing at something he’s supposed to want, convincing himself of his happiness. It feels comfortable and safe. It feels like he belongs, like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

He watches Cas sleep, the sight driving all other thoughts from his mind, at least until his phone buzzes and he grabs it from where he’s left it on the arm of the couch. Swearing under his breath, he slips out from under Cas, hissing  _hang on_ as he hurries to his bedroom and shuts the door. “Hey, Bobby.”

“Is this a bad time?”

“No, it’s good. What’s up?”

“You said you’d call and let me know when you were heading back.”

Had that really been yesterday morning? It feels like a lifetime ago. “Uh, sorry. Some stuff’s happened and I think maybe my plans have changed.”

“Could you be any more vague?”

“I...Cas got shot.” He can hear Bobby’s quick intake of breath and he hurries to explain. “He’s fine, I mean he’s gonna be. He was wearing his bulletproof vest. But he got hit right in the chest and bruised some ribs. And he whacked his head pretty hard when he went down.”

“Jesus.”

Dean lets the wall hold him up. “Yeah, it was bad. I saw it happen.”

“What the hell were you doing there?”

“Well, a big snowstorm was heading this way and nobody had seen Georgina so Cas and I were out looking and—Jesus, there’s no way to tell this without sounding like a crazy person. Anyhow we were looking for her and we ran into this older lady with dementia and she’s usually just confused but totally harmless. Only this time she had a gun.”

“And you’re not hurt?”

“No, I was with the goat.”

“You were with the goat.” Bobby repeats. He sounds genuinely confused and honestly Dean doesn’t blame him. “So everyone is ok?”

“Yeah, Cas has to take it easy for a few days so I’ve got him here.”

“You’re taking care of Cas.” Again, it’s not a question.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Dean.”

“Yes?”

“You’re telling me you’ve been in town two months and you’re the one in charge of babysitting the cop when he gets injured.”

“Uh…”

“Something else you want to tell me, son?”

Coming out to Bobby was not on his agenda for today. Or possibly ever. It’s not that Dean’s ashamed about liking guys, he just never thought it would get to the point of bringing one around for anyone in his life to meet. But that idea seems to have been tossed by the wayside so he covers his eyes with his hand for a moment and then takes a deep breath. “Me and Cas are together.”

There’s a long moment of silence. “Together?”

Dean’s throat clicks as he swallows. “Uh, yeah, like—”

He’s cut off by a loud laugh on the other end of the line. “I know what you mean. I’m just messing with you. I’m glad to hear you two idjits finally got your shit together.”

Dean sits down heavily on the bed. “You knew?”

“I had my suspicions. Every conversation we had you were all ‘ _Cas this_ ’ or ‘ _Officer Novak that’._ ”

“I don’t sound like that,” Dean mutters.

“Yeah, you do. Ok, so what does this mean for Christmas.”

Sighing, Dean admits that he isn't sure. “It all just happened and we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it.”

“Ok, you keep me posted, though. Tell Cas I’m glad he’s ok and that he can call me if he wants tips for dealing with your sorry ass.”

“Remind me never to introduce the two of you.”

“Good luck with that. And Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you felt you could tell me.” Bobby’s voice is gentle and sincere, and it’s so unexpected that Dean feels himself blinking back tears.

“Me too.”

  
*

Cas is awake when Dean comes out of the bedroom.

“Morning, sunshine.”

“It’s definitely afternoon and officially shower time.”

Dean checks the time on his phone and realizes Cas is right. “Are you sure you’re up to that?”

“You offering to help?”

Dean tries to think of a smart comeback but only ends up opening and closing his mouth a few times like a fish. “I...I’ll get lunch going. Just tell me if you get dizzy or anything, ok?”

Cas gives him a big, cheesy wink. “I’ll be sure to.”

With a weird mixture of desire and worry churning in his gut, Dean focuses on lunch, but he does occasionally listen at the bathroom door to make sure all is well. He’s cutting sandwiches in half when Cas calls his name, and he hurries to the bathroom with the knife still in his hand.

“Cas? You ok?”

The bathroom door opens and Cas stands there with only a towel wrapped low around his waist. Dean’s eyes go instantly to it, to the sharp jut of hip bones and the trail of dark hair that promises more. He’s so distracted by it that it takes him an extra moment to see the purple bruising spread across his chest, the point of impact clearly visible. When he finally drags his gaze upward, there’s an amused glimmer in Cas’s eyes. “I left my clean clothes in the bedroom.”

“Oh,” Dean says, wetting his lips. “Did you need me to get them for you?”

Cas considers that. “Actually, I think I can do it.” With Dean as his audience now, Cas strides down the hall toward the bedroom leaving Dean to stand and stare at his broad shoulders and the still-glistening planes of his back. The knife falls from his grasp and Cas stops and turns around at the clatter of metal on wood. “Everything good?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, but it comes out a little rough. He bends to get the knife, grateful for the chance to hide both his blush and the stirrings lower down.

*

That night there’s no pretense of Dean sleeping anywhere else. They take turns brushing their teeth and Dean catches himself smiling at the sight of their toothbrushes side by side afterwards. It’s scaring him a little bit just how much he’s enjoying these tiny moments between them. He needs to get a grip, he knows right now they’re living in this bubble of a fantasy, with no outside world bearing down on them. It’s not real or sustainable, but here he is blushing like a scandalized housewife when Cas slaps his ass on their way into bed.

“You’re feeling better,” Dean observes.

“I definitely am.” Cas leans over and rests a hand on Dean’s knee. “Much better.”

“Ok, but you’re still supposed to be taking it easy.”

“I’m on cognitive rest. What I have in mind I can do with my eyes closed.”

“Are you sure you’re up to this?”

“Dean, I woke up in a bed with you this morning. I’ve spent all day long touching you in one way or another. If you’re ready for more, I promise you I am as well.”

Dean narrows his eyes at Cas. “You weren’t exactly subtle walking around in that towel.”

Cas tries and fails to look innocent. “Oh, did you notice that?”

“Ok, look. Here’s the deal. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way.”

“I didn’t bring my handcuffs.”

“That’s...that’s not...shut up, Cas.” Cas just grins at him. “If anything starts to hurt, you have to tell me.”

“I promise.”

“I mean it. If you get dizzy or lightheaded or anything.”

“You seem extremely confident in your abilities.”

Dean smiles. “Oh, I am.”

* 

Afterwards, his whole body relaxed and heavy, it takes every last ounce of energy for Dean to roll onto his side and switch off the lamp. As he does, Cas settles in closer, tossing an arm over his waist. In the now-dark room, Dean rests his head on the pillow and lets himself be held. Cas slots into place behind him, pressed close and warm, and the scratch of his stubble prickles Dean’s shoulder as they lie together in contented silence.

Dean closes his eyes, ready to drift off. Cas is nuzzling gently into the back of his neck, but Dean feels the heat of his breath as he sighs. “Maybe this isn’t the ideal time,” Cas begins, and just those few words have Dean’s eyes flying open. Cas continues, his voice measured and careful. “But none of this unfolded the way I’d planned and I think we need to figure some things out.” Even though he stops to press a kiss to Dean’s shoulder, Dean can’t stop his blood from running cold.

“You mean you didn’t plan that whole thing with Mildred just to get my sympathy?” He winces, glad Cas can’t see him. Joking about it leaves his stomach sour, but he’s trying to buy some time until he figures out what Cas is getting at.

Cas makes a hum of consideration. “It did seem to work.”

Dean scrubs a hand over his face and decides for once in his life not to be a coward. He turns over to face Cas. “Sorry, that was a bad joke.” His eyes aren’t adjusted to the dark yet so he can’t pick out Cas’s expression.

Cas trails his fingertips lightly over Dean’s arm. “I know you’re leaving. You’ve said all along you were only here until Christmas and I knew that, but I think I didn’t really believe it until I showed up the other day and saw the boxes. And then all I knew was I couldn’t let you leave without letting you know how I felt.”

Dean smiles at the memory of that first kiss. “Message definitely received.”

“I had no idea the way things would spiral from there. These past couple of days have been horrible and wonderful and even if they’re all the time we get together, I want you to know that I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.”

At that, Dean pushes to sit up and switch the lamp back on. Cas sits up as well, twisting the covers in his hand, his blue eyes wide and uncertain.

“You’d get shot again just so we could have this.”

“Ok, when you say it like that…” He stops, brow furrowing. “My point is that I really like you, Dean.”

Dean feels something hot squirm in his chest, like he’s suddenly too big for his skin. Jesus Christ, who the hell just says shit like that out loud. He doesn’t know what to do with it so he huffs out a breath. “You must’ve hit your head harder than I thought.”

But now Cas is looking at him like Allison does when Officer Novak tells her he’s all out of cat stickers. Dean wants nothing more than to kiss that look right off his face, but he knows he actually needs to use words. “Ok, there’s something you really need to know about me and it’s that I suck at having serious conversations.” He takes a deep breath. “But I like you, too.”

Cas smiles softly, before his expression goes tentative again. “Maybe it wasn’t fair for me to dump all that on you at the last minute. Not when I knew you were going home.”

Dean thinks of Bobby, of the way he’s stored all of Dean’s belongings and kept a job available for him. He thinks of Sam with his friends and classes, chasing his dreams in California. He thinks of Georgina, safely curled up on her blanket out back. He thinks of this house, sturdy and solid, keeping out the wind and snow, every surface inside polished and restored. This house is a home now, waiting to belong to someone, waiting for a new chapter to begin. He thinks of the man here beside him, brave and strong and hopeful.

Dean’s got some things to figure out, but they’re all logistics, minor details.  

“I do have to go back to Sioux Falls,” he tells Cas, then leans over to kiss him. “But as for home? I’m already here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Marina song [Handmade Heaven](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GiOGlYjKgX8).
> 
> I am [scones-and-texting-and-murder](http://scones-and-texting-and-murder.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


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